


Closer

by lavieboheme0919



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Attempted Murder, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Barebacking, Barista Stiles Stilinski, Bombing, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Brett likes to get around, Bribery, Caning, Character Death, Child Abuse, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Rings, Come Eating, Conditioning, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Derek Feels, Derek Hale & Scott McCall Friendship, Derek is a Good Person, Derek is sexy but damaged, Derek is zen until he's not, Dom Derek, Dom/sub Play, Double Anal Penetration, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Erotic Electrostimulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Feminist Derek, Gun Violence, Heavy BDSM, Impact Play, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Intimidation, Leather Kink, Lydia is Perfect, M/M, Manipulative Peter, Manipulative Theo, Marriage, Mind Manipulation, Murder, Orphan Stiles Stilinski, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Peter is creepy as hell, Physical Abuse, Pimp Peter Hale, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Prostitute Stiles Stilinski, Psychologist Derek Hale, Public Sex, Rewrite of another fic I wrote, Sad with a Happy Ending, Scott tries to protect Derek, Stiles picks the worst time to stand up for himself, Sub Stiles, Teacher Derek Hale, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Stissac, Violence, but he means good, quid pro quo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-15 02:00:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 74,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5767039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavieboheme0919/pseuds/lavieboheme0919
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a rewrite of another fic I wrote called "After the Storm." The foreword will explain that.</p><p>Stiles is a prostitute at an all-male brothel disguised as an exclusive club. He caters specifically to those with a BDSM kink. On the 7th anniversary of the brothel's opening, he entertains a sexy businessman with gorgeous green eyes and dark, black hair who wins 48 hours with him. The two push each other to extremes neither thought possible, but the aftermath may mean that both can heal from what has been done to them.</p><p>Trigger warnings should be heeded and if any additional need to be added, PLEASE let me know!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Foreword

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [After the Storm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/721640) by [lavieboheme0919](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavieboheme0919/pseuds/lavieboheme0919). 



_After the Storm_ was the first Sterek fic I ever started. It is quite literally the fic that launched it all for me. For me, it was inspired by a beautiful Destiel fic called _Pretty Angel_ by Tracy_Lou_Who. I loved the fantastic portrayal of a relationship between a man and a male prostitute. It was dark, sexy, and beautiful. I had just discovered Sterek and immediately had ideas. I asked permission, and was granted, to write a fic inspired by _Pretty Angel_.

I first published the first chapter of _After the Storm_ back in early 2013. Since then, I have matured as a person and as a writer. I was never able to finish that story because looking back at it, it wasn't a well-planned or written as I would have liked. There were choices that I wanted to make differently and I decided that I should revisit that story and rewrite it the way that I actually want it to come across.

So for that reason, I began anew. This version is going to be a little darker, a little sexier, a little funnier, and a little sadder, but hopefully better-written and more believable.

Some of the themes I worked hard to weave into the original version will be present, but many of the characters have been reworked. Some have been removed, others have been added. Hopefully it will all come together for a more compelling story. As always, I invite you to give any constructive criticism you have and will take it into account.

I hope you enjoy the new, updated version of _After the Storm_. I'll work hard to post and update each week, however I preface that with saying that I live a busy life and may not always be able to keep that promise. This version will not be quite as long as that one, but I'm hoping that it will be much better.

Without any further ado, I give you the first chapter of the rewrite of _After the Storm._


	2. The Rehearsal that Never Happened

The Wolf Den was, as far as the public was concerned, an extremely exclusive and extremely expensive gay club catering to various tastes. The proprietor, Peter Hale, had worked hard for years to curate boys of exceptional beauty to perform. There were the Jocks, Jackson and Danny, who performed in shoulder pads and jock straps; Isaac was most commonly referred to as "Fitch"—like Abercrombie and Fitch—due to the fact that he looked like he walked out of one of their catalogues; Jordan was G.I. Joe, often dancing with his body painted in camouflage colors; and Stiles was The Fox, so named for the playful and mischievous nature he exuded when performing… well that and the large, bushy fox tail butt plug that was always very visible considering the only other clothes he wore were a leather harness, collar, and loincloth.

To everyone in the know, The Wolf Den was a bordello. The apartments above the club were where Peter and his boys lived, slept, and entertained their guests. For the most part, this was made perfectly legal by the fact that men paid admission to the club. The various levels of membership granted them various perks. The liaisons with the men were, for all intents and purposes, "mutually satisfying activity between two consenting adults." It was a distinction of semantics, but it kept the police from raiding it. The collection of boys satisfied men of all tastes and occasionally, Peter (only topping and performing with the name Alpha Daddy) would entertain the younger 18-25 clientele with daddy issues.

The rules were rather simple: once inside the club, a man could have his pick of any boy or grouping of boys that weren't otherwise pre-disposed. All play had to be consensual, though condoms were sometimes foregone for an additional fee (the most elite membership package promised exclusively bareback encounters). Peter ensured the collection of all funds to avoid any awkward moment between the boys and their johns.

Each boy's room had been decorated according to the particular theme of their brand. As such, Stiles' was aimed at the BDSM crowd. His was the only room with a camera, since often, Stiles found himself getting tied up, whipped, and disciplined by his clients. Peter had to ensure he wasn't being raped. But Stiles wasn't permitted to say "no" to any demand the customer had. "Too far" was at Peter's discretion. There were a few times when Peter had needed to step in and once when Stiles had required hospitalization. There were times when Stiles didn't want to perform the acts his customers desired, but he had to protect his brand, and so he suffered through it.

Peter was a very imposing man, but the boys all loved him. They had all been hand-picked by him. They had all lost their virginity to him. Having been a male prostitute for most of his life, he had personally trained them all in the art of pleasure. They all knew he was their pimp, but they were treated well by him if they worked hard. Peter set up their schedule. The days they weren't scheduled to entertain, they had a strict workout, designed by Peter to ensure their brand continued. Stiles was not allowed to bulk up too much. Clients paid for the slender, sexy sub… not the bulky bottom.

There were times when Stiles _really_ looked back and knew they had all been taken advantage of. Stiles, himself, lost his virginity at 16 to Peter, and was entertaining his first clients on his 18th birthday. Truthfully, he didn't particularly like the BDSM scenes he played out. They exhausted him emotionally, physically, and mentally. The clients didn't bother with aftercare. It was often hours later when Peter could provide that for him. His ass cheeks were often red or sore from paddlings, and Stiles had become an expert at hiding cane marks with makeup.

Tonight was the 7th anniversary of The Wolf Den. Only Jordan had been there since the beginning. Stiles was the newest acquisition, having been entertaining for a year and a half. But tonight, only the elite VIP customers were invited and there was going to be a drawing for a free "home visit", which was when one of the boys was sent to a client's personal residence for a full 48 hours. Due to the nature of Stiles' brand, he was the only one normally exempt from the home visits, but Peter had told him that he would be included in this.

Stiles was busy giving a lap dance to a man whose hands were occupied, one caressing his length under his loincloth and the other working the fingers in alongside the fox tail plug. The man was handsome with dark, thick hair and piercing green eyes. The stubble covering his face only added to his natural beauty. It had always amazed Stiles when men who looked like they would have no problem getting laid without paying for it. But Stiles had come to like the attention, and Peter's explanation rang in his head: "It's about imbalance of power. They paid for you. Therefore, in their minds, they own you even if just for a little while. You're at their beck and call and you're fulfilling their innermost fantasies. That's why each of you is so different. You give these men what they won't, for whatever reason, give themselves."

"You're being a naughty boy, aren't you?" the man whispered heavily into Stiles' ear.

"If you feel the need to punish me, I know where to find a big leather paddle," Stiles said, playing the role he had mastered. He could feel the man's solid erection in his pants. "Although I feel something else that's big you could punish me with."

"You really _do_ need to be punished," the man's breathy reply told Stiles he was going to be put through the ringer.

"You get a chance to sample us tonight, so that you know who you want to take if you win the drawing," Stiles replied casually.

"I don't need to sample anything," the man replied. "If I win, I'm taking you home."

Stiles smiled. He was genuinely enjoying the attention. The man took out a hundred-dollar bill and slipped it into the tight space between the harness and Stiles' skin. Any money they earned on lap dances was theirs to keep. Money tipped for their other services was to be handed over to Peter. He got 70% of that "for the upkeep of the club and apartments, as well as the cost of STI tests and other miscellaneous expenses."

The man bit down on Stiles' ringed nipple, causing him to cry out in surprise as well as that brief, fantastic burst of pain. The man then shoved one of his fingers into Stiles' open mouth, directing him to suck it. Stiles did, using the tried-and-true techniques personally taught to him by Peter. He sucked it down to the very last knuckle, keeping full eye contact and showing no signs of gagging. Though Stiles would have thought it impossible, the man grew even harder.

Stiles glanced to his left. Another man—whom Stiles knew as "Chris"—had Jordan on his lap. As usual, Jordan's skin was bare and painted with the camouflage colors of the armed forces and a camouflaged jockstrap hiding his considerable (though rarely used except on the other boys) cock and balls from view. Chris was taking advantage of the free samplings and jack-rabbiting his cock up into the prostitute's hole. There was no shame evident on Jordan's face at being utilized so publicly. Another glance further over and Stiles could see Isaac being fucked at both ends by a couple that frequently visited together.

The man roughly grabbed Stiles' face and repositioned it so that he was once again staring into those deep green eyes. "I'm the only man you need to pay attention to tonight," he said authoritatively. "Do you understand?" Stiles nodded. This man was really getting into the roles they were playing. "I can't hear your head shake."

"Yes, I understand," Stiles said in a believable but fake moan.

The man pulled the finger that had been inside Stiles out and moved that hand around, grabbing the boy's testicles tightly. It caused no pain, but Stiles knew that any additional pressure certainly would. "You will refer to me only as 'Sir' or 'Master Derek' and will use an appropriately respectful appellation when responding to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," Stiles said and the hand instantly relaxed.

"Let's go somewhere a little more private," Derek ordered. Stiles started to bring him upstairs, but Derek stopped him. "You misunderstood. I'm not bringing you anywhere to fuck you. I simply want to talk."

It was a blow to Stiles' self-esteem that the man didn't want to fuck him, but he didn't let it show. "We have some private performance rooms. This way, Master Derek," the prostitute replied.

Once in the private room, Derek got comfortable in the large, plush armchair. Stiles resumed his dancing and was told to stop. Derek wanted him to just sit on his lap, but positioned him in such a way that Stiles had no choice but to feel the man's throbbing erection. He ran a deft fingertip over Stiles' soft lips. "Your lips are so beautiful… Your entire mouth is," he said. Stiles was going to thank him for the compliment, but a look in his eyes told him not to. "How many men have fucked this beautiful mouth of yours?"

Stiles blushed. "I don't remember, sir."

Derek cocked his head to the side. "There's no need to be ashamed. I knew what you did before I even walked in here. I simply would like to know. You can't tell me you aren't the type of person who might keep track of that sort of thing. I know better."

"Three hundred and thirteen, sir," Stiles said softly.

The man accepted the number with no judgment. "And how many have kissed you?"

"Three, unless you count the other boys here. When we perform together we often kiss each other," Stiles replied.

"How could three hundred and ten people resist kissing those lips?" Derek asked in a way that made Stiles' stomach flutter. His eyes were fixated on his lips and suddenly Stiles was very conscious of what his lips were doing. They felt dry and he licked them, which Derek took as a sign of his eagerness. A finger slipped back inside him and Stiles moaned again. "And how many times has this part of you been utilized?"

"Four hundred and thirty-two," Stiles said softly. "But our Daddy makes us get tested twice each week, especially if we entertain bare." Stiles realized he forgot the 'respectful appellation' and quickly added, "Sir."

Derek smiled. His teeth were very white and straight, although the front two had an almost bunny-like quality. It didn't take away from the overtly masculine nature of his energy. His voice remained calm and restrained as he spoke. "Again, I'm not judging you for what you do. After all, I plan on eventually adding to that number. Who is your Daddy?"

"He's the man who runs the place, sir. He asks that when we speak about him to our clients, we only refer to him as our Daddy or as The Alpha," Stiles explained.

The man nodded his understanding. His finger continued to work in and out, making Stiles impossibly hard. "You're the BDSM boy here, right?"

"Yes sir," Stiles replied.

"What do you like about it?" Derek asked, expertly working Stiles' hole.

"There's never a routine. Some of the other boys have the same routine they do with each of the men they service. For me, it's always new and different. I never know what to expect, sir," Stiles answered.

Derek smiled a the response. "And what do you _not_ like about it?"

"Sometimes men get carried away and they beat me too hard. The ones who use the cane are the worst. They're usually really strong and they gag me so I can't tell them to stop," Stiles replied casually. "The scenes usually last a long time so they don't understand how exhausting it is for me afterwards being in that headspace for such a long time. When they're done with me, they're done."

Derek sucked his teeth disapprovingly. "Aftercare is important to the well-being of a good sub. Rest assured that every time I play with you, I will take the time to do the proper aftercare. What is off limits?"

Stiles had never actually been asked that question before. He furrowed his brow in confusion. "I'm sorry sir… what?"

Again, Derek cocked his head. "There's got to be something that's off limits…"

"Sir, you pay good money for your membership here. You also pay extra for your VIP package. You are entitled to whatever it is you want to do to me," Stiles replied.

Derek added a finger. "It's your body. You set the limits."

Stiles thought for a moment. "A man once tried to shove metal rods up my cock," he said. "That was the most painful thing I ever experienced. I don't ever want to do that again."

"Sounding is out," Derek said. "Good to know. Anything else?"

Stiles relaxed allowing his body to rub against the man's erection. "You said you planned on visiting me often… how about we cross those bridges if ever we get there. Until then, I'll give you carte blanche."

Derek took his free hand and pulled Stiles' head closer. Their lips touched, brushing slightly before Derek pulled him even closer. Stiles closed his eyes. Derek tasted like mint. Derek took control, deepening the kiss. A third finger was added and Stiles was now feeling incredibly over-full. He moaned into Derek's mouth, his cock now leaking. He had never had a man wait _this_ long to get to the activity. Usually they were whipping him, or penetrating him with more than just fingers by this point.

"Do you always wear that plug?" he asked.

"When I'm dancing, yes."

"What's your name?" Derek asked.

"The Fox," Stiles replied. "But some call me Boy, Sub, and Slave when I'm entertaining them."

"What's your _real_ name?"

"Stiles, sir," the prostitute replied.

Derek's eyes glimmered at the revelation. " _Stiles_ ," he said, putting an emphasis on the name. He loved the way the name tasted and felt on his tongue. "Well, Stiles, I want to take the tail out of you. Is that ok with you?"

Stiles nodded. This entire interaction had been so erotic that he would do anything the man asked at this point.

Derek removed his fingers and slowly started working the plug out of Stiles, who bit his lip as the widest part began to pull at his hole. Once it had passed the ring, Derek fucked him with it a little, surprised at the length. "Do you like wearing the tail?"

"I think it sets me apart from the other guys," he admitted. "I'm so used to wearing it that sometimes I feel empty without it."

"We can't have you feeling empty," replied Derek, who was now running his fingers around the sensitive hole. In a low, breathy voice, he gave an order. "Unzip my pants and pull out my cock."

Stiles did so. He gazed hungrily at the large organ that he'd been feeling through fabric. He let his fingertips caress the beautiful purple head. Derek painfully twisted Stiles' nipple in disciplinary retaliation. Stiles retracted his hand and looked almost fearfully into Derek's eyes, seeking guidance. "I'm sorry sir, I—"

"You didn't ask permission," Derek said. "You don't get to play with that until I tell you that you can." A bead of precum glistened at the hole of his cock. It was clear the man wanted something to be done to it, but he was a man of discipline. "You can't get greedy, Stiles. I'm trying to teach you a very important lesson right now." Stiles' breath hitched in his throat as suddenly four fingers filled him. "Just as I won't touch you without your permission, you won't touch me without mine. Do you understand?"

"Uhnff," Stiles grunted, before forcing out a choked, "Yes sir,".

Derek withdrew his hand, leaving Stiles achingly vacant. "The lesson I'm trying to teach you might get a little messy. Allow for me to take my clothes off." Derek instructed Stiles to stand up and also remove his loincloth. He let it fall to the floor, leaving himself wearing only his collar, harness, and a cock ring that, in addition to helping keep him hard (which was not an issue he was having with Derek), forced his balls to display prominently for clients who might want to torture those, too.

Derek undressed without ceremony, dropping his expensive dry-clean only business suit on the floor, mere inches away from the prostitute's loincloth. Even in the dim light of the room, Stiles could see that he had a body most would kill for. There was a spattering of chest hair. He was also wearing a leather harness and a leather arm cuff up on his powerful bicep. "Climb back into my lap," he ordered.

He did as commanded and the fingers were once again inside him, exploring his insides with a vengeance. Stiles reached down and stroked his own cock, receiving a painfully sharp tug on his balls. "In my presence, you will not touch that without permission. Am I understood?"

"Yes sir," Stiles said. Derek's fingers worked inside him, stretching his opening and stroking his prostate, sending waves of pleasure. On Derek's orders, Stiles' hands were linked behind the man's neck and he was staring intently into the man's eyes. He felt like putty in the man's lap, the way he was being used. Soon, he felt the entire fist of the man up in him. He had been fisted many times before. One man took pride in making Stiles take him up to the elbow once a month… but never had it felt like this before. "Sir… I think I'm going to…."

"No you won't," Derek said matter of factly.

"You're saying that I am not to come without your permission?" Stiles clarified between hitching gasps of pleasure.

Derek smiled kindly, never looking away from Stiles. His eyes seemed to be penetrating the prostitute just as completely as his fist. "No, I'm saying you won't come until I want you to. You have my full permission to let it happen when that moment arrives. But I assure you… it won't be until I desire it."

Stiles was trembling now as he sat on the man's lap, half cradled. The fist worked its way in and out. The other hand flicked the rings in each of Stiles' nipples, playing with them. Stiles knew it wasn't absent-mindedly. Everything this man was doing was intentional, including the fact that he had ordered Stiles not to look away from his eyes.

"What are you thinking about, Stiles?" The way Derek said his name made him melt. More of the man's arm had gone inside him.

"Nothing," he replied honestly. "I can't really think of anything right now…" The only thing that existed was this room… this moment… this man. This man with the piercing green eyes and the thick dark hair, who seemed to, after such little time, know Stiles' body better than he knew it. He had never received such pleasure from any part of a man being inside him—let alone fisting him.

Derek knew the boy was telling the truth. "You're such a good boy," he said huskily. "You opened up so beautifully for me, Stiles. You're my good, beautiful boy." This compliment made Stiles swell with pride. "You don't open up for everyone like this do you, my good boy?"

"No sir," Stiles said. He shook his head for emphasis, but his eyes stayed, hypnotically locked on Derek's.

"Suck my fingers again, Good Boy," Derek said, letting his fingers dance on the boy's lips. "Suck it like you would suck my cock if I let you… but keep your eyes on mine, don't close them, except to blink. Can you do that for me, my good boy? My sexy Stiles?"

Stiles sucked those fingers better than he had ever sucked any cock, even Peter's. There was no longer any acknowledgment of time passing. Everything that had ever and would ever exist was this man. Stiles began to feel light headed. He could tell he was drifting into sub-space—a hypnotic state induced during intense scenes from an overcompensation of neurotransmitters. Derek could see the way Stiles' eyes dilated. He knew that Stiles was drifting too, and didn't want him to. "You're such a beautiful, good boy, Stiles. But I need you to stay here in this moment with me. Focus on me… focus on the sound of my voice and the feeling of my fingers filling up both ends of you."

Stiles nodded slightly, renewing his effort with the fingers in his mouth. A large glob of precum dripped from Derek's cock onto Stiles' leg. Stiles had been leaking precum so much that it was coating his cock. Derek kept bringing him just to the brink of orgasm. At one point he had been kept there for so long that he only realized it when Derek let the sensation abate. His cock ached for release, but he trusted Derek to eventually allow it to happen and did not dare try to guide it along himself. He would not risk this man's wrath. He wanted to make Derek proud.

To his credit, Derek seemed to recognize the struggle going on inside the sub. "You're doing so well, my baby boy. I'm honored at the trust you've shown me that you've opened up with no resistance. Truly, I am." Somehow, Stiles knew that Derek wasn't just saying it. "I'm going to let you come soon, I promise, my Good Boy. You've earned this reward."

The tremors were beginning deep within Stiles and uncontrollably moving outward, but he kept his eyes fixed on Derek's. He continued sucking the fingers, imagining that he tasted the sweet precum.

Derek's technique within his ass changed and he withdrew his fingers from Stiles' mouth. Before Stiles knew what happened, he was covering their chest, stomachs, and faces with blast after blast of thick, white ropey liquid as loud, panting wails of ecstasy reverberated around the room. Immediately horror filled his eyes as he realized he had just covered his client in come. "I'm so sorry, sir," Stiles said, coming out of his trance. Derek held Stiles' chin still.

"I didn't give you permission to look away from me," Derek reminded him, his voice calm and authoritative. "I'm proud of you, my Good Boy. You did so well. Why do you think I removed my clothes?" Derek leaned in and licked a little off of Stiles' chin, savoring the way the boy tasted. He leaned forward, kissing Stiles and sharing it with him. Stiles had been fed semen before—his own and others'—but never had he stopped to truly taste it. He sucked it off of Derek's tongue, which freely explored Stiles' mouth. Every part of Derek was welcome in Stiles body. After the kiss, Derek fed the rest of Stiles' explosive orgasm to him.

Never breaking eye contact, Derek raised Stiles up on his lap. "You've earned my cock. I'm going to fuck you with it now," Derek said. It was a statement and not a request, but it didn't need to be. Stiles wanted it and he knew that if he really didn't want to that Derek wouldn't do it. He would not protest this, though. All the work Derek had done with his hand meant that the cock slid easily and unencumbered into Stiles. "How do I feel inside you now?" Derek asked.

"Amazing, sir," Stiles said, slowly raising and lowering himself. He massaged the throbbing, impossibly hard member sheathed inside him.

"Has anyone ever told you how tight you feel, Stiles?" Derek asked. "Have they ever told you how silky and warm you are inside?"

"No sir," Stiles replied. They were usually telling him to take it like the slutty little whore he was. And since he was nearly always tied up or pinned down with no way to stop it, he did.

"If I wanted to look down, I'm sure you would look so beautiful taking all of me," Derek said. "But your beautiful eyes are all I want to look at right now. Next time, though… next time I'm going to watch as I disappear into you. I'll take photos too, so I can show you how great you look fucking yourself on my cock."

Stiles felt a flush of pride that there was going to be a next time. He looked forward to it.

"How many men do you work so diligently for?" Derek inquired. "I can't imagine you fuck everyone so exquisitely…"

"Only for you, sir," Stiles promised, staring into Derek's eyes. He _needed_ to feel Derek's release inside him.

"What about your Daddy? Aren't you a Good Boy for him?" Derek asked.

"When Daddy fucks us, he's usually giving us pointers about technique, sir," Stiles replied.

"Remind me to thank him, then, for the expert technique," Derek replied. His voice was getting more hitched and he was starting to meet Stiles on his thrusts. Finally, he told Stiles to stay still and pounded himself up inside the prostitute. They were covered and glistening in each other's sweat, and still the brightest thing inside the room was Derek's eyes. He only closed them as the thick bursts finally exploded inside. He continued his thrusts, though they were coming more powerfully and less frequently. Stiles came again, knowing deep within himself, that it was Derek's will that he did. After that, he felt like jelly. The adrenaline was wearing off. Derek ordered Stiles to clean up his second orgasm, then held him close, still firmly inside him.

"You were so good, baby boy," Derek whispered throatily. "You were so giving… such a good sub."

At that point, Stiles realized he was being dominated. Not a single whip or paddle had touched his skin, and yet this had been the most intense domination scene he had ever experienced.

Derek could see that Stiles' eyes had returned to the proper diameter. "How are you feeling, Stiles?"

"Amazing," Stiles panted. "Thank you so much for that."

Derek grinned. "I would say the pleasure was all mine, but since you came twice, that's clearly not true." Stiles knew better than to fall for the clients, but damn this man was perfect.

A knock on the door took them from their moment. Stiles continued to stare into Derek's eyes, not having permission to look away. Peter's voice was muffled through the wolf mask he wore at these events. "The drawing will be in 10 minutes. Only those present can win."

"Thank you," Derek said. "We'll be out momentarily. Your boy did a fantastic job by the way…"

"I'm glad to hear," Peter replied before ducking out of the room.

It was at that point, that the reality of the fact that they'd just had sex truly sank into Stiles. He had allowed a man to orgasm inside him. He would need to be tested. Stiles' mind was now in post-encounter mode, running through the list of things he now needed to do. "Let's get dressed," Derek said. "Suddenly I have a lot of incentive to want to win."

"Good luck," Stiles said before he realized it. "And even if you don't win, VIP men are allowed to sleep over in the boys' rooms."

Slowly, Derek was going flaccid. Stiles was still at half-mast. The ring kept him with a nearly perpetual boner. Derek reached over and grabbed the tail. He slowly pulled out, leaning Stiles back, as to not allow gravity to help drain his semen from the boy. He pushed the tail in, Stiles grunting as it slipped into place, giving him the familiar full feeling. He got hard again though, realizing that Derek had done it to keep his come inside. "Dress me." Derek ordered and slowly Stiles helped pull the clothes back onto him. He stared longingly at the now limp—though still quite large—cock as he tucked it neatly back into the man's underwear. Derek noticed the look and the way Stiles had subconsciously licked his lips. "If you behave, I might let you suck it next time," he said. Stiles was on his knees as he pulled the pants up. He then stood, helping Derek into his undershirt, dress shirt, and then blazer, He tucked the shirts into the slacks before buttoning and zipping him up. At last he fastened the belt.

If it hadn't been for the distinct stink of sex that clung to his sweaty skin, there would have been no way to tell that he had just spent the last however-long-it-had-been dominating and then fucking a male prostitute. Stiles pulled on and tied his loin cloth before leading the way to the door and opening it for Derek. They reached the main room just as the drawing was beginning. Several of the boys were seated on the laps of men and Stiles knew that they were being penetrated.

Peter was in his Daddy Wolf outfit, which consisted of the leather wolf mask, leather manacles, and chaps that only covered his ass. His prodigious cock hung shamelessly. Peter was solid muscle and fantastic in bed. He moved his hand around inside the container holding the names of the VIP clients. His finger caught one and he pulled it out, reading the name aloud. It wasn't "Derek" so Stiles didn't pay it any attention until Peter repeated it. Apparently the man had already left the party. Peter tossed the paper aside and it flitted down to the floor in graceful sweeping arcs.

He stirred the jar again and then took out another piece of paper. He stared at the name for several long moments before reading it aloud. "Derek."

Stiles looked over to see Derek grinning. He raised his hand, indicating that he was present, and therefore had won the drawing. The other men looked disappointed, but begrudgingly clapped. Peter called for all of the boys to line up. Those who had been sitting on the men's cocks, slowly rose up. They all had the distinctive freshly-fucked walk—Stiles included. They lined up beside Peter.

"Which of our lovely, talented boys would you like to take home?" Peter asked. His voice boomed, but was slightly distorted by the mask.

Derek walked up and down the line, as if he were considering all of the options. He was so convincing that Stiles was, for a moment, afraid that he would pick one of the others. He'd seemed especially interested in Jordan, who was slowly leaking ejaculate from his rear. Stiles was grateful that his persona required the fox tail, or he would have been, too. Derek made two more passes before settling in front of Stiles. "I think I'll take the Fox," he announced and Stiles swelled with pride.

"Write your address please, good sir!" Peter said. "And the Fox will be there at 10 AM sharp tomorrow morning. You'll have him until 10 AM on Monday." Derek licked his lips with the possibilities this weekend would bring.

After Derek was done writing his address, Peter told the boys they were dismissed to entertain the guests—except Stiles, who was to hang back. "See you tomorrow," Derek told Stiles before walking out the door.

Peter brought Stiles upstairs, taking off his mask as the door closed behind him. The largest apartment was his. Since he entertained guests looking for the really Daddy experience, the apartment was decorated in all modern furniture and appliances. "You've never done a home visit," Peter said. "So I will teach you the rules, they're really quite simple. Whatever they say goes. This is for your protection. If you don't cooperate, you could be raped or killed and I won't be there to protect you. You're especially vulnerable since you specialize in BDSM."

"I don't specialize in BDSM," Stiles corrected. "You just made me sleep with the BDSM clients."

"Do you know why?" Peter asked, not really wanting an answer. He made that clear when, after a beat he resumed talking. "When I first fucked you… on this bed right here… you were so eager to please me. Do you know what amount of work it took to get Jackson to let me pop his cherry? But you came to me. You were eager to pay for your bed, clothes, and food with the one valuable thing you had. You willingly offered me your virginity. At that moment, I knew you were special, Stiles." Peter's hand caressed the side of the young boy's face. "It was the Christmas morning just before you turned 17. I'll never forget it for as long as I live, Stiles." Peter sat on his bed, cock jutting proudly upwards as he held Stiles' hands. A look of pride on his face. "I never make you boys work on Christmas. Danny was sleeping in… I thought you were too. I was fucking Jackson hard. I was so turned on because I was watching Jordan fuck Isaac. I'd specifically asked them to do it doggy style and they were exquisite. I had just busted in Jackson and pulled out when you knocked on the door.

"You were mesmerized by the smell and sights of sex. I could see it in your eyes. I dismissed the rest of them and invited you to join me in bed. Without even being asked to, got naked before you climbed in next to me. Do you remember what you said to me?" This time it was clear that Peter wanted an answer. It seemed so long ago. Stiles had no idea. He shook his head, a look of confusion on his face. "You said you wanted to be my little whore and I… I thought I heard you incorrectly, but I didn't. You were so uninhibited. You let me fuck each end of you as many times as I wanted. You kept begging me for more and then you let your brothers take their turns with you. I took a photo of you after they had finished. You were so hot filled and covered in come, Stiles. It was the best Christmas gift you could have given me. It was so special to me because even after all of that, you stayed in my bed. You'll never know what it did to me when I crawled in and you let me do it to you again." He poked Stiles in the chest for emphasis. " _You_ were special to me. You were built to be a sub. You were built to be a whore and you embraced that gift. You're my favorite, Stiles. You've come so far from the filthy, cold, shy boy I saw shivering on the sidewalk."

Peter pulled the plug out of Stiles and carefully laid him on the bed with his face down and ass out. Stiles was certain he didn't remember that day in the same way, but he didn't speak up. "I see you got put to some use today…" Peter noted as he pulled out the plug, noticing the semen on it. It didn't deter him. It never did. Stiles secretly suspected that Peter preferred it. After a few long, slow thrusts, Peter leaned down and whispered into his ear. "I love you the most, Stiles. You're like a son to me."


	3. Devil's Whisper

Stiles woke to a rocking sensation and pressure at his backside. As his eyes fluttered open and the world came back to him, he realized it was Peter using him to take care of his morning erection. When he was done, he pulled out and sniffed the nape of Stiles' neck. "You smell like sex. You're going to want to shower that off before your client puts it right back on you."

His sleep had been anything but restful. He had dreamed about when he was younger and first saw Peter's dazzling smile. It had been Peter's recollection of that time in his life that triggered the dreams. Stiles was sure of it. They didn't follow Peter's narrative, but not even time could muddy those memories. But then again… maybe he _had_ invited it upon himself? If he really _had_ been born to be a whore and a sub, as Peter often told him, then maybe he had done it unconsciously.

Stiles remembered being offered the bed and food, originally told that there would be no price—that Peter simply wanted to help. When Stiles saw Peter and the other boys having sex with each other, he was told that it was an "arrangement" they had. Soon, Peter was coming into Stiles' room and kissing him and grinding against him. Stiles had been afraid and asked Peter to leave. The response he received made it clear that he couldn't do that. "If you want to continue enjoying my hospitality, you need to show some in return," Peter told him.

A deadline had been set up. If Stiles wanted to continue having a place to live after Christmas, he would give himself over to Peter and the other boys. Stiles hated being homeless. He hated sleeping on sidewalks and under narrow alcoves. He had been beaten and cold. He would do anything he had to do not to experience that again. He had delivered himself to Peter's room where a veritable orgy was happening. Stiles remembered the cold, unfeeling look in the boys' eyes as Jackson bounced up and down on Peter while the latter watched as Jordan pounded himself into Isaac. Stiles hadn't seen that none of it was for the boys' pleasure. It was all for Peter's.

No matter how differently he saw the event now, he was stuck with the repercussions of his decision. He made the choice to have shelter and a home, even if that home was a brothel. He could have chosen to leave at any time. He had chosen to stay.

Stiles pulled out of bed, removing his collar, harness, and cock ring, and brushed his teeth before heading into Peter's shower. Peter followed him. "I'm not going to be there to protect you," Peter reminded him. "You're going to need to do whatever he asks you to do." Peter's hand ran down Stiles' shoulders, back, and to his ass. His finger played with the hole. "But you're so very good at that. Be the whore and the sub that I trained you to be."

"I will," Sties promised. Peter scrubbed Stiles down, removing the layer of sweat and grime that had collected on his skin. It was an invasive shower, but Stiles was used to nothing less. Peter made sure to clean out the remnants of their night together. When Stiles was clean, he was expected to return the favor. He scrubbed Peter's body as he had done hundreds of times before. This was another role he played. He worshiped each muscle, including the one that Peter made him spit-shine. Stiles dutifully sucked him off. After, Peter helped Stiles into his harness and personally lubed and inserted the tail. He even helped put the cock ring back on before handing Stiles a large trench coat. This process was to ensure that Stiles brought no cash or identification with him. Though Peter said it was to prevent them from being robbed or having their identities stolen, Stiles knew it was to ensure they couldn't go anywhere but back to the brothel. There was a backpack filled with various BDSM toys, whips, restraints, paddles, clamps, and lube for Stiles to bring with him.

Stiles pulled on the coat, picked up the backpack, and followed Peter downstairs. Jackson was pushing Danny against the wall and furiously kissing him. Jordan was walking naked their apartment to his own. There was no shame among the men. Whores had little pride.

"You boys should be doing your workouts," Peter chastised.

"We are," Jackson replied. "We're about to start a very spirited cardio routine."

Danny laughed but Peter wasn't amused. "No sex until your workouts are done."

Jackson rolled his eyes and Danny seemed disappointed, but they headed upstairs to the gym. There were cameras in the gym, so Peter would know if they fucked before their workout.

Stiles and Peter headed outside into the brisk air. They rode in silence and the farther they rode, the higher his pulse rose. "Remember to stay in your character," Peter admonished. "The Fox isn't nervous. The Fox is sexy and sure of himself. Your client won't enjoy you if you're nervous."

"Give me a break, Peter," Stiles sighed. "This is my first time entertaining a guest off-site."

"Your client won't give you a break. Neither will I."

When they arrived, Peter leaned over and kissed Stiles on the lips. "For good luck," he explained after. "I do it for all the boys on their Home Visits."

Stiles climbed out of the car and hit the button for the intercom on the house's gate. There was a moment of silence before Derek answered and Stiles introduced himself. The gate slowly swung open and Stiles stepped inside, backpack in-hand. Heaving a sigh, Stiles trekked up the large driveway. His legs were freezing and he was wearing a simple pair of flip flops. Peter had already driven off and Derek greeted Stiles at the front door.

The house was expansive. The yard was perfectly manicured and everything had a modern, masculine touch. It was very much like Derek.

Derek was wearing his cuff and harness and nothing else. Stiles' mouth went dry at the site of him in all his naked splendor. "Ten on the dot… your Daddy wasn't kidding."

"He rarely does, sir," Stiles replied stiffly. A chatter of cold ran through him and Derek ushered him into the warm house. He took Stiles' coat and shoes and hid them away in a closet, leaving Stiles, for the most part, naked.

"No jockstrap today?" Derek asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Daddy told me to wear only what you see," Stiles said, turning around.

Derek closed the distance between them. "Who put the tail in you?" he asked in a low throaty voice. "You or your Daddy?"

"He did, sir," Stiles replied.

"Did he fuck you this morning? If I remove that tail and shove myself inside you, am I going to feel him?" Derek asked, playing with the tail. His cock was pressing against the sub's skin.

"He fucked me last night, after you left, sir," Stiles replied. "Then he fucked me this morning when he first woke up. But he cleaned me out right after that."

"Good," Derek said simply, letting that syllable hang in the air. He indicated for Stiles to follow him. He led them to the master bedroom. The bed was huge and decorated in dark, sumptuous colors. They turned down a hallway that came off the master bedroom to a door that was locked. Derek pulled the key from his harness, unlocking the door before placing the key back in its spot.

Stiles thought his apartment at the brothel was a veritable BDSM dungeon. He was wrong. There was every manner of discipline and torture device hanging neatly from the walls. There were pillory, a Saint Andrew's Cross, hundreds of feet of rope, chains, and even a fucking machine. "For you, we will use the safety word 'foxglove.'" Derek smiled at a joke that apparently only he understood. "It's a plant that's highly poisonous… sometimes it's planted to deter foxes." Stiles nodded his understanding.

"And what if I'm unable to speak?" Stiles asked.

"If you're gagged or… busy," Derek said, glancing down at his cock, "knock five times on me or the closest surface. I'll make sure you always have one available if you can't talk. I want us to have fun. I want this to be mutually enjoyable.

"The things we're going to do this weekend… they require absolute trust between us. After any intense scene, I will give you whatever aftercare you need and expect the same in return. I will push you to your limits, but never cross them. Everything we do must be completely consensual. If you don't consent to something, the safe word will let me know and I will stop instantly."

Stiles had never had a single client follow that code before now. "Thank you, sir."

"Before we begin, there is something you should know about me. I have my Ph.D. in Psychology and in addition to teaching sexuality courses here at the University, I have a radio talk show. Much of what we do will also be incredibly psychological, and for that reason, all the more intense. But I have a public persona. I need your anonymity." Derek told him. "That being said, if we enjoy our time this weekend, I assure you that you will have a client for as long as you'll give me the honor of playing with you."

"Thank you, sir," Stiles said. "Are there any rules you wish to set?" There were a few that he wanted to, but Peter had always told him he couldn't say no. He was a whore. Whores didn't make money by saying no.

"Same as last night. Both of our cocks are off limits for you until I say otherwise. I will keep you from coming until I want you to. I will proceed based on the cues I receive from you. If you feel the need to cry or scream or beg, do so. If you want us to play roles, let me know. It will be fun, but intense.. It will be completely normal for you to experience an entire bevy of emotions. And if I ask you what you're thinking, you are to respond honestly. If I think you are lying to me or withholding something from me, I will punish you," Derek said. "If we have to add or adjust any rules, we shall."

Stiles nodded. "How should we start?"

Derek's eyes traveled to Stiles' mouth and he pulled him close. "I want to kiss your lips again." He leaned down, kissing Stiles so intensely that his legs nearly gave out. They had both been sitting the last time and Stiles had forgotten what that man's kisses could do to his bones. Stiles was unsure if he was supposed to kiss back, so he simply allowed the man to kiss him… to probe the open mouth with his tongue… to lay claim. When the kiss stopped, Derek stared into his eyes. "I taste another man. Did you blow your Daddy last night?"

"No sir," Stiles replied. "I blew him this morning."

Derek frowned, but kissed him again. "I'm so horny, Stiles. I want to fuck every part of you that I can, but I can't fuck you when you're not my Good Boy. You came to me with another man's cock on your breath… so how should I solve this problem? Tell me, Stiles, what should I do to make you my Good Boy again so that I can fuck your holes the way a Good Boy deserves to have his holes fucked?"

"You should punish me, I guess, sir," Stiles said softly, looking at the floor.

"Is that your guess or is that your answer?" Derek's voice was scolding and suddenly Stiles felt like a child who had been caught stealing from the cookie jar.

"My answer, sir."

"That's a very good suggestion, then, Stiles," Derek said. "Do you know the real reason why you are being punished?"

"Because my breath smells like another mans' cock, sir?" Stiles replied, unsure if he had the right answer. Derek removed a paddle from the wall. He took a seat on a stool and made Stiles bend over his lap. Stiles could feel his Dom's cock poking against his side. This was a position he was familiar with. Lots of men enjoyed spanking him like a naughty child. It was demeaning and painful. It was a suitable punishment.

Stiles barely had time to register the _woosh_ of displaced air when a loud crack resounded through the room and pain exploded along his backside. Stiles screamed out, not expecting the pain to be that severe on the first blow. Most of his clients usually did a few play swats. Derek had put his full strength behind that first one.

"I'm punishing you because of the _disrespect_ you showed me by letting me kiss your beautiful lips when there was another man's cock on your breath," Derek explained. Stiles held onto the legs of the stool as another swat landed in exactly the same place, rending another scream from his throat. "As soon as I've punished you for your disrespect… as soon as you're my Good Boy again, I'm going to fuck you the way a Good Boy should fucked. I don't want to have to punish you, Stiles… I'd much rather fuck you. But I can't reward you for your disrespect. I have to teach you a lesson, and then I'll fuck you once you've learned it. Does that sound like a good plan Stiles? Do you want me to punish you so that I can fuck my Good Boy?"

"Yes sir," Stiles gasped after a third swat brought tears to his eyes. He played along with the dichotomy Derek had set up. "Please punish me until I'm your Good Boy."

Though Stiles couldn't see it, Derek smiled. He pulled the sub back onto his feet and led him over to the pillory and securely fastened him in. He stood directly in front of Stiles, forcing the sub to stare at his erect cock and the bead of precum that had formed at the tip. Derek reached down and dabbed his finger in it. "Open your mouth," he ordered. Stiles instantly complied. Derek smeared the droplet of precum across the boy's tongue and Stiles knew this was a reward for answering correctly. He savored that droplet as though it were manna from heaven.

Derek walked around to the back of Stiles and clicked his teeth. "There's no shade of red I love more than the one I see on your ass right now, Stiles. It's so lovely. I want to paint my room in this shade… but… I think I can make it a bit brighter." Three strokes came in rapid succession and Stiles nearly went hoarse in his screams of crippling agony. Derek was putting all of his strength into each swat and Stiles knew he wouldn't be able to sit down after, if Derek kept it up. The pillory also blocked his peripheral vision so that he couldn't see when the swats were coming. "There we go, Stiles… it's just the perfect, deep shade of red."

Stiles heard Derek walking, but didn't dare relax. He soon felt the familiar sting of a riding crop against his back. Derek sighed. "I'm just not sure this punishment is truly fitting of the crime. Do you know what I mean?" Stiles wasn't sure whether or not he should answer. He stayed silent and was met with another blistering stroke from the larger paddle. "I asked you a question!" Derek's voice wasn't a shout, but it was definitely loud and intimidating.

"I'm sorry sir," Stiles whimpered through choked sobs. _Whores say yes_. That was Peter's rule. _Whores always say yes_. "I agree, sir. I deserve worse punishment than that, sir."

Derek seemed satisfied by that answer and rearranged Stiles' legs so that they were close together. He tied them together with rope and then raised them into the air so that no part of Stiles was touching the floor. Another rope supported the weight of his torso. Derek then pushed Stiles balls up backwards through the space between his thighs so that he would have easy access to them. Stiles felt the sting of the crop hit his left calf, then his right shoulder blade. Those were bearable and Stiles grunted from the brief spike of pain they caused.

The few harsh taps against his balls caused renewed tears. "Please stop, sir!" Stiles said, instinct to survive overriding the rules Peter had put into his head. He tried squirming out of the way, but that only made it worse.

"If it's more than you can handle, then use the safe word," Derek said, pausing, his arm in mid-stroke. He was an experienced Dom and knew that a sub didn't always mean it when they said stop. It was the purpose of safe words to show that delineation. "Is it so bad that you need to stop completely? If so, then say the word."

Stiles thought for a moment. _Whores say yes_. This beating was going to help him once again be Derek's Good Boy and for reasons he could not understand, he desperately wanted to be Derek's Good Boy again. Derek's eyes glinted as he watched Stiles struggle with the decision, but then ultimately give the green light to continue the discipline. He resumed his strikes, but eased only slightly on the power behind them. Ten minutes of successive strokes of a flogger on his back and Stiles felt the floating sensation of subspace beginning to envelop him. "You're doing so well, Stiles… you're almost my Good Boy again."

"I want to be your Good Boy," Stiles slurred, his parasympathetic nervous system completely taking over. His brain was now marinating in a cocktail of endorphins and other neurotransmitters. "Master Derek… Please…"

"God, I love hearing you beg," Derek grunted, landing two hard slaps with the paddle, catching Stiles' balls with both of them. Stiles shrieked. Derek rubbed his aching cock against Stiles' skin. "You're turning me on so much, Stiles. You want me to keep beating you until you're my Good Boy, don't you? You want me to fuck you, don't you?"

The pain was now starting to hurt less. He would have done or agreed to whatever it was Derek said. "Yes sir…" Four more strokes, two centered on each ass cheek, and suddenly he came powerfully, spraying his seed onto the floor below him. He had never been made to come from being beaten like that. He didn't know how to feel about it.

Derek placed a hand on the red skin. It was hot to the touch. "So beautiful, Stiles. Such a Good Boy to let me discipline you like that." Derek untied the ropes that had been supporting Stiles' legs and they fell to the floor like a boulder into a lake. He was in too much pain to stand on his own. Derek released him from the pillory and Stiles crumpled to the ground. His face was red and stained with tears. Derek held him, pulling his face into the hairy pecs. He stroked Stiles' messy hair. "You were so fucking sexy during that scene, Stiles."

"Thank you, sir," Stiles panted. His cock jumped as Derek murmured little words of praise into his ear. They sat like that until Stiles no longer felt the detachment of subspace.

"You were such a Good Boy, you've earned your reward," Derek replied. "But we're going to wait a little bit, alright?" Stiles nodded. He was still breathing raggedly from the crying. "How are you feeling, Stiles?"

"I came… I've never come from that before, sir," Stiles admitted. "I rarely ever come in my scenes with other men."

"Of course I let you come," Derek cooed. "You took that beating so well. You were such a giving partner and I really enjoyed sharing that moment with you. I like playing with you, Stiles."

"Thank you, sir. I enjoy you too," Stiles replied. He liked being held like this. He liked that Derek was taking the time to let him settle down in an environment of understanding and respect. Then he reminded himself that Derek was quite likely a very experienced Dominant. He likely did this with all of his subs—even the ones he paid for—and for that reason, this didn't mean that Stiles special to him in the slightest.

"Let's get to know one another a little better while you recover from that. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" Derek asked. Stiles nodded, so Derek asked his first question. "How long have you been prostituting yourself?"

The focus on the fact that he was a prostitute made Stiles feel less-than-worthless. Derek was obviously a man of means. Stiles was so far beneath this man that he could never hope to cross the divide between them. "Roughly three years. I started trading sex with Daddy for food and shelter when I was 16," Stiles replied timidly. "I only started entertaining other men on my 18th birthday."

"Why did you start selling your body?" Derek asked.

"I didn't really have a choice. It was sleep with Daddy and the other boys or be homeless," Stiles said in a small voice. "I did what I had to do to survive. I hated homelessness. I wasn't going to do that again."

Derek leaned down and kissed Stiles. "I'm so sorry that happened to you, Stiles."

"Don't be, sir. I lost my virginity to a sexy man who fucked me daily for years. I have all the sex I could want," Stiles replied, keeping to himself that he didn't actually want the vast majority of it and Derek had been a _very_ rare exception. He had to paint this as glass-half-full for the sake of his client.

Derek shook his head. "No, you were manipulated into a terrible situation, Stiles. Now that you're older than 18, have you considered trying to leave?"

"I can't betray Daddy like that. I owe him so much," said Stiles. "He loves me. And I love him for what he's done for me. He told me that I'm his favorite. I've worked long and hard to become a sub like this."

"What you do is heavy stuff, Stiles," Derek replied. "You need Doms who are going to respect you and care for you."

"Daddy cares for me," Stiles said indignantly before throwing up a wall. "Look sir, I really don't want to talk about this anymore."

Derek pursed his lips at that response and decided not to dig any further into that area at the moment. "What would you like to know about me?"

"Why would a man as sexy and well-off as you need to pay for sex?" Stiles asked.

"I have plenty of people who would be willing to share my bed with me, excuse me for the sound of vanity. But I don't return the favor for them. Of the people who have offered, you were the first one I've taken up on that offer in a while," Derek answered.

"Why do you like dominating men?"

"It's not just men. I've dominated women too. Domination is the only way I can get off," Derek replied honestly. "Like you, I didn't get a whole lot of input regarding my early sex life. Now, I need the power exchange in order to get off. I almost shot four times last night while I was fisting you."

"So did I, sir," Stiles admitted sheepishly. "I'd never experienced that particular brand of domination before. It was really hot."

"Thanks!" Derek replied cheerfully. "Now, my Good Boy, are you ready for your reward?"

"Mhmm," Stiles said, breathing in the scent of Derek's sweat one last time. Derek rose to his feet, but when Stiles started to do the same, Derek pushed him back down to his knees. Instantly, he understood what was expected. Remembering the rules set earlier, Stiles paused. He went back into his role of subservience. "May I suck your cock, Master Derek?"

"Yes. And from now on, the only cock I want to taste on your breath is mine. Understood?" Derek asked.

"Yes sir," Stiles said before opening his mouth and wrapping his lips around the large cock facing him. He sucked it with more fervor than he had sucked Derek's fingers the night before. He was rewarded with the salty precum coating his tongue and the deep, guttural moans as Derek grabbed the sides of Stiles' head and began to fuck the boy's throat.

Stiles placed his hands on Derek's powerful thighs to brace himself. He never felt less human than when a client was fucking his face. But Derek was somehow different. Derek seemed to dominate him with the same sense of authentic reverence that he expected to be shown. Suddenly he didn't mind the fact that he was the prostitute this man had paid for. He only cared only for the pleasure of the man whose member was in his mouth.

"You know how I love your beautiful lips, baby boy." Derek moaned. "I love them even more when they're sucking me down."

He fucked the boy's face for ten minutes before pulling out and bringing Stiles to his feet. He leaned down and kissed Stiles probingly, longingly. The sub's breath now smelled and tasted like his cock and he loved that. "Sir, you didn't finish," Stiles said, pouting.

"All in due time, my Good Boy," Derek replied. "I thought I'd give your other hole some love, too." He ordered Stiles to stay where he was and began rigging ropes and chains. Before he knew it, Stiles was suspended from the ceiling with both of his holes at the perfect height for penetration. His hands were bound behind his back and his muscles burned from the strain of helping to support his weight. Derek grabbed a bottle of lube and worked his fingers into the boy.

Stiles moaned as the first one breeched him. Derek spent time playing with his opening and teasing it. He circled it and caressed it with his index finger and Stiles' moans grew. It was becoming clear to Stiles that sex would only ever be the icing with Derek. The domination was the main event, but done so meticulously well as to be mutually satisfying.

"How does my Good Boy want to be fucked?" Derek asked after spending several minutes strumming at the puckered hole as if it were a guitar.

"Give me everything you have, sir," Stiles urged. It was how he was usually fucked anyway. People always assumed that's how he liked getting fucked because he was the BDSM boy.

"I won't tolerate lying, Stiles," Derek reprimanded, the playful teasing voice instantly becoming rigid and authoritarian again. "I want to fuck you so hard you can't walk right for weeks. But I asked how _you_ , Stiles, want to be fucked."

"I'm here for your pleasure, sir," Stiles said. "I'm really good at taking it rough."

"But do _you_ like when it's rough?"

"I like when it's mixed between rough and easy. It makes it more enjoyable," Stiles confessed. "But you've paid really good money so if you want to just fuck me rough, like I said… I'm good at taking it rough. I'll moan or even cry if you want me to. Lots of guys like it when I cry while they fuck me."

"I paid for entrance to the club. I didn't pay for you, Stiles," Derek clarified. "And even if I _had_ specifically paid for you as my prostitute, it's still your body. You still get a say as to what happens to it. You're a person with complex emotions and opinions. You're not a piece of meat. If I wanted something to just shoot my load into, I'd get a fleshlight. I've got you nice and oiled up… I want you to enjoy this as much as I will."

Stiles felt pressure as he pushed the blunt head against the hole. There was resistance a bit of resistance which Derek overcame and then he was inside.

Derek let out a moan and then Stiles heard the click of a camera. "I promised I would take a photo to show you how beautiful you are swallowing up my cock into your hole, Good Boy," he said. "This is going to be my wallpaper." He set his phone aside as he continued to slowly push himself in. "You're so fucking warm and soft and tight…" he murmured as he inched his cock in. When Stiles felt that he was all the way in, he heard Derek say, "Your hole is a work of art, Stiles. It's a thing of immeasurable beauty."

Stiles began to think he was being made fun of. He was a whore. He had been fucked literally hundreds of times, sometimes with condoms, but usually without. A silent tear rolled down his cheek as Derek began to thrust, continuing his stream of compliments and descriptions of what it felt like and "how beautiful" it was.

Derek saw how Stiles' shoulders moved as he cried. "Are you enjoying this?"

"Not really sir," he replied, unsuccessfully trying to hide the fact that he was crying.

"And why is that?" Derek asked, stopping.

"Because when you say those things about me, they make me feel worse about myself," Stiles murmured. "I can't believe you actually think those things about me. You have to be making fun of me."

Derek pulled out and came around to Stiles face, kneeling down so they could be eye-to-eye. "Stiles, I _thoroughly_ enjoy having sex with you. I'm doing my best to make sure you enjoy yourself, too. The sub should enjoy receiving the pain and the pleasure as much as the Dom enjoys inflicting it. And I thought you got off on the praise I was giving you…"

"I was—" Stiles said quickly. "I mean—I do… I just don't know how you can really think those things of me."

"Because they're true, Stiles," Derek said plainly. "Your history has given you a complicated relationship with sex and how your body is utilized. I get that. I'm also getting the distinct feeling that you've not truly had a healthy experience with BDSM before me. I want to try and help fix that, Stiles."

"I'm not your patient, sir," Stiles insisted.

"If you were, I've broken quite a few APA rules," Derek said. "I'm not trying to be your shrink, Stiles. I'm trying to be your Dom and do so in a way that's going to be healthy for you."

Stiles was silent for a beat, but nodded his comprehension. "Then will you fuck me some more?"

Derek kissed Stiles and then stood up and moved back behind him. It was a while before Derek finally came. When he did, they were both dripping sweat, though for different reasons. The strain that the position he was in was the main reason for Stiles' sweat. The way he'd put everything he had into fucking the sub was the main cause of Derek's.

"Want to break for lunch?" Derek asked.

It was only at that point that Stiles realized how hungry he was. "Yeah," he replied. Derek let him out of his restraints. From the wall, Derek chose a large plug—one that was much larger than any Stiles had ever taken. Derek added a liberal coating of lubricant and then worked it into Stiles. The sub's face was red and his eyes squeezed tightly shut as Derek continued to coax the plug up inside the boy. Stiles exhaled as it finally slipped past the ring and into place. Every movement caused it to apply pressure to his prostate and he gave little grunts and moans as it happened, which only brought a smile of satisfaction to Derek's face.

The Dom led Stiles through the labyrinthine house to the giant kitchen and motioned for him to sit on a bar stool as Derek disappeared for a moment and came back with pants and a shirt. He quickly washed his hands and searched through the fridge for ingredients. "Sir, can I ask a question?"

"Certainly," Derek replied as he began preparing grilled cheeses.

"I told you more or less how and who it happened with me… but how did you lose your virginity?" Stiles asked curiously.

"It's kind of a sad story," Derek said. "I'm afraid if I tell you, it might kill the mood."

Stiles thought that he wouldn't find out and Derek had simply put up a wall. He settled leaned against the counter, whimpering slightly as the plug once again sent shivers of pleasure through him.

The whimper caught Derek's ear and he smiled his dazzling smile. "Then again, with that plug doing what it's doing, you're going to be ready to fuck at a moment's notice for a while." He spoke as he cooked, his voice was calm, steady, and even despite the terribly story it weaved. "I was orphaned when I was a kid. My family, we all lived in Northern California. We were having a party. My parents loved to entertain. But something went wrong… and the house caught fire. They never did figure out what it was that started it. I had been outside the house moping because I wasn't allowed to stay in my room reading and had to be social. It's the only reason I survived. I moved across the country to live with my uncle. As you can imagine, I was incredibly depressed. Sometimes I went days without even leaving my bed. Eventually, though, I started to rejoin society. I went to school, played basketball, and my body started to develop. Suddenly, my uncle looked at me differently. He kept asking if I had any girlfriends or boyfriends. I didn't. I wasn't ready for something like that. I was still very much grieving for my family.

"One day after school, he told me he had someone he wanted me to go out with. He said it was an older guy, but perhaps I could use that sort of fatherly affection. I didn't want to, but he made me," Derek said. Stiles was expecting his voice to hitch or tremble, but it stayed steady. "The man was nice enough, but I wasn't into it and I wasn't ready for what I knew he wanted to do. I complained of a headache, hoping he'd just take me home. Instead, he offered me a Tylenol. Being young and naïve, I took it… but it was a roofie. He brought me back to his house where he and his roommate undressed me and then, well, you can probably guess where that led to. I couldn't fight it. And I was rock hard the whole time, which they told me meant that I liked it and that I wanted it. But I knew I didn't. When they were done with me, they brought me back to my uncle. I was so ashamed of what had happened. I wanted to tell my uncle, but I was afraid he'd blame me. I was afraid he'd tell me I had been a slut or something."

"Did you ever tell him?" Stiles asked, horrified.

"Only after it happened four more times. My uncle kept saying that I had a boyfriend. After a while, I got fed up and told him that his friend wasn't my boyfriend—that he was my rapist, but my uncle said there had to be some sort of mistake. He said that I had misinterpreted that man's intentions, and that he'd used a condom, so there was no proof anyway. He called the man and his roommate up and had them come over to 'hear their side of the story.' They told him about how much I had enjoyed myself and recounted to him the details of how they had taken advantage of me, leaving out the fact that they'd drugged me. They told him that maybe the reason I thought it was rape was because of how rough we had been. My uncle was mad at me for lying and told me that I should spend Memorial Day weekend with my boyfriend to make up for the lies that I told. He forced me to go with them. For three days, I was raped over and over by them. I hated every second of it."

Derek had finished making the first grilled cheese sandwich and put it on a plate, handing it to Stiles. Though after hearing Derek's story, the boy no longer had much of an appetite. He regretted asking in the first place. He got up off the bar stool and walked around the kitchen island before wrapping his arms tightly around Derek's torso. "I'm so sorry that happened to you, Derek," he said softly.

Derek returned the hug. "In a way, I'm not," he said. "Because it's the reason why I became a psychologist. The anger and the pain fueled me for so long to become a good person… to be able to help those in need, but it forever augmented my relationship with sex. I tried having regular sex with men and women. Nothing worked unless I was in charge and there was a definite exchange in power. I thought I was a pervert for a while, but then I learned about BDSM and realized I had a community. I went to therapy, I worked through my issues. I forgave him for what he did, but I cut my Uncle Peter out of my life. I needed him to protect me and keep me safe. Instead, he threw me to the wolves."

The name of Derek's uncle pricked up Stiles' ears. But no… it couldn't be the same person, could it? After all, Peter was an incredibly common name. Though the cast of Derek's face… there was a resemblance. Stiles dismissed it though. He was looking for the similarity. Of course he'd find it.

Derek pulled away from the hug and resumed cooking. Stiles returned to his seat at the island bar and whimpered as the plug in him shifted slightly with his weight. It brought a smile to Derek's lips.

They ate together for a while in silence. Only when all the sandwiches were gone did Derek break that silence. "Do you have any clothes?"

"Just the trench coat."

Derek put up a finger then disappeared for a few moments, coming out of the room on his phone. "I'm going to say medium?" Derek replied unsure. "Roughly 32. He looks to be about six feet." There was more silence then Derek put his hand over the speaker. "What shoe size are you?"

"Size 11," Stiles replied, confused.

Derek told the person on the phone Stiles' shoe size and then said, "Alright. We'll see you then!" before hanging up.

"What was that all about?"

"I thought we could go somewhere nice for dinner. And as much as I love seeing you in just your harness and collar, I have a sinking suspicion that the maître d' would likely not be as impressed," Derek replied. "Or maybe he would be… I've never been quite sure about him."

Suddenly Stiles felt uneasy. "Sir, that's not necessary… really…"

"Of course it's not," Derek smiled. "I just want to."

"But you're buying me clothes… the place has to be fancy if it has a maître d'… and it's just too much to do for a person who's only your hooker," Stiles said.

"You're not my hooker," Derek replied calmly. "As I said before, I only paid for access to the club. I happen to think the drinks there are incredible. The fact that I met you and we've had absolutely fantastic sex is merely a perk…. And well worth the cost of those drinks."

"But you don't wine and dine the prostitute!"

"Who said anything about wining and dining? You're not yet 21 so there will be no wine involved, I promise," Derek replied, though upon seeing the look of shame and frustration blossoming on Stiles' face, he changed his tactic. "This isn't an attempt to woo you or anything like that, Stiles. I just want to do something nice for you."

"So I'm your charity case?" Stiles said, now more hurt than anything else.

Derek sighed. "I didn't say that, Stiles. Look, I get the feeling that people rarely treat you right. In fact, the way our interactions go, I'm guessing most people just see you as a place to put their ejaculations. But you're a human being, Stiles. And I refuse to treat you as anything less. And if you want me to do that, then I'll bring you back there and I won't visit you again."

Stiles wanted to point out the hypocrisy in Derek's argument… the fact that they had sex on their very first meeting and Derek's fingers had ended up inside him before either of them had shared their names. The way Stiles saw it, you only acted that way with a hooker. Not a person you respected. He didn't raise this objection, though. He feared he may be treading on thin ice at this point. Derek had been nothing but nice and this was the very first time he had ever _enjoyed_ sex. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"It's alright," Derek replied. "My stylist is going to be here in a few hours. We have a reservation at 6:30 for our dinner. What would you like to do in the meantime?"

Stiles shrugged. "I noticed your headboard has handcuffs attached to them…" he said by way of suggestion.

* * *

Jordan was Peter's first boy. Jordan had been with Peter for such a long time and Peter had put years and years of hard work into molding Jordan into the person he wanted the boy to become. Jordan was crazed by sex. He had a libido that made him capable of fucking or be fucked nearly around the clock. He had been immensely proud of the boy the first time he watched Jordan approach Stiles, and with no words or hesitation, bend the boy over and take him in the hallway.

He had taught the boys that sex with one another was essentially the equivalent to masturbation, but only Jordan had truly taken that lesson to heart. He made it a point to regularly fuck his brothers. He only stopped doing so to Danny and Jackson when they had become a couple. He made it a point to regularly occupy Peter's bed as well, to show his Daddy appreciation for everything. It was for this reason that Peter could trust _only_ Jordan for the task at hand.

After returning from dropping Stiles off, Peter searched the various apartments above the club. He found Jordan in Isaac's, with Isaac bent over the counter as Jordan rammed himself into the younger boy. Isaac was a true bottom, though he didn't seem to enjoy Jordan's use of him and looked quite relieved when Jordan let out a yell of pleasure before finishing and pulling out. "That was so fucking hot," he panted, slapping Isaac's right ass cheek playfully. Isaac stood up, both of them noticing Peter for the first time.

Jordan's eyes lit up. "Hey Daddy," he said flirtatiously. Isaac leaned back over, expecting Peter to follow Jordan.

"I was just looking for you," Peter sniffed. The air in the apartment smelled much more like sex than it usually did. He realized that Isaac must have entertained a few guests before Jordan visited him. That certainly explained the lackluster performance Isaac had given—the poor boy was probably sore. "Follow me," he ordered Jordan.

Once in Peter's apartment, Jordan dropped to his knees and began fidgeting with Peter's button and zipper. Peter swatted Jordan's hands away. "That's not why I brought you here," he said.

"Oh?" The disappointment in his voice amused Peter.

"Do you remember the guy who won Stiles?"

Thinking for a moment, Jordan tried to recall the previous night. He had spent so much of that night getting absolutely pounded by one of his regulars, an arms dealer who had a soft spot and a hard cock for Jordan's military persona. He always put Jordan through his paces and he was, in fact, one of the boy's favorite regulars. "He was the one with the dark hair and the devastating green eyes, wasn't he?" Peter nodded. "What about him?"

"He's my nephew," Peter replied.

"So that kinky sexiness _is_ a family trait," Jordan said, his eyes flashing with delight at the prospect of having both uncle and nephew in bed and filling him up at the same time. "You want me to attend to his needs instead of Stiles?"

"Quite the opposite," Peter said. "He seemed fixated on Stiles.

"Isn't that a good thing, though, because it means he'll keep coming back to visit our little bondage boy?" Jordan asked.

"The more Derek calls upon Stiles, the more likely we are to lose him," Peter sighed.

Confused, Jordan furrowed his brow. "I'm not following… where do I enter into this?"

"My nephew is a psychologist and we're going to have to employ some psychology of our own. What I'm about to do might sound harsh, but I'm doing it to keep our family together," Peter said. "We are all each other has. We are stronger as a unit."

"What is it that you want me to do?"

"Every time Derek comes to visit Stiles, you will go into his room and put an eye-less leather hood on him as soon as Derek leaves. You will make him think that it is someone else… another client who has an anonymity kink. Then you and I will spend some time _training_ him. That way, when he sees Derek, he will get filled with a sense of dread. Eventually, he will ask us not to allow Derek to visit him and then our family gets to stay together."

"So essentially we're turning Stiles into one of Pavlov's dogs?" Jordan said, ruminating on the proposal Peter had laid out before them. "That's really fucked up, Peter…" For a brief moment, he thought that perhaps the boy would not want to torment his brother in such a way. For a moment he thought that the years of molding and shaping Jordan had been for naught. "But you're right. We're a family and we need to stick together."

When Jordan looked up with a smile and said he'd do t, Peter became so hard he threw Jordan onto his bed and slid out of his pants in one easy motion, ready to reward the boy for his hard work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thanks for reading. I know this story is kinda fucked up, but it's all going to come together beautifully. I hope you enjoyed and please let me know what you thought.


	4. Choices, Choices

Looking in the mirror, Stiles saw the way the suit hung on his body. The fit was perfect. The shoes didn't even feel like they needed to be broken in. He looked handsome. He looked respectable. He looked like… a fraud.

After lunch, Derek had blindfolded Stiles and, per Stiles' request, handcuffed him to the headboard. There had been some use of paddles, a few clothespins, and lots and lots more sex. Any one of the things he had going on at that time would have been fun… maybe even exciting. But the combination of them all going on at once was frightening. At one point, Stiles had actually needed to use his safe word.

He had done so hesitantly, not really even sure if it would make any sort of difference. To Stiles' surprise and Derek's credit, everything came to a screeching halt. "The clothespins are going to hurt worse after I take them off," Derek warned. He was right. The nerve endings on Stiles' sensitive nipples seemed to vibrate with electricity at the removal of the pins.

Stiles looked behind him. The sheets of the bed were crumpled, showing exactly where they'd explored each other's bodies.

Derek popped his head out of the bathroom. "You ready?" he asked.

Stiles turned around and nodded and Derek flashed that smile that reached into Stiles' gut and twisted it.

A few moments later, Derek came out, looking just as dashing as he had the previous night when Stiles had been dancing on his lap… when Stiles had been fingered by this man. "I didn't think it was possible for you to look more fantastic," Derek said, taking a moment to straighten the jacket. "How is it that you look nearly equally stunning with and without clothes on?"

Stiles shrugged. "It feels weird not to have my collar on, sir," he said. That collar hadn't come off of him, save for showers, since he was 16. It was the symbol of his position as a sub. Stiles shifted his weight. In doing so, he felt the plug inside him, holding in the two loads that Derek had deposited. He was also wearing a jockstrap underneath the expensive slacks. Derek said it was in case he was overcome by his desire for Stiles and needed easy access.

"While we're out tonight, just call me Derek. We'll save the 'sir' and 'Master Derek' stuff for when we're alone," Derek said. "Nobody else really knows that I'm part of the BDSM scene."

"Or the escort scene," Stiles added softly with a wry smile.

Derek frowned. Stiles, catching the frown pressed his lips to Derek's, stealing a kiss. He had never done that before. It sent a rush through him, which emboldened him to deepen the kiss. When it broke, Derek smiled. "You're stalling."

"I'm nervous," Stiles replied.

"Don't be. We're going to have a good time."

They drove there in Derek's car. Stiles was somehow not at all surprised to see that Derek drove a shiny black Camaro. The car was sleek and sexy, like its driver. The part of town they drove to was upscale, as one would expect it to be. Stiles had never seen this part of town. Derek pulled up to the valet, leaving the car running, and the two of them hopped out. The maître d' greeted them at the podium, and the strange lilt to his vowels explained Derek's confusion about which way he went. "Your table is ready sir," he said, bringing them to a table isolated from the rest.

A spread of foods Stiles instantly recognized as aphrodisiacs was already laid out. The waitress, a beautiful girl with dark skin and large eyes came up to them. "Well, well," she said smiling. "You finally have a guest!"

"Tired of having just me?" Derek joked.

"Not at all, but I was beginning to worry about why you never seemed to have any friends… I thought that maybe you were an asshole or something," she teased, causing Derek to laugh.

"Stiles, this is Braeden. She's one of the best waitresses I've ever had," Derek said. "I always request her when I eat here."

"Mr. Hale behave!" she admonished playfully. "I'll get your wine started."

"Water for me today, sweetheart," he said.

She turned to Stiles, who was dumbstruck learning Derek's last name. "And for you?"

"Same," he mumbled after a moment.

"Two waters coming up!" she said cheerfully before leaving.

"You're nearly the same color as that napkin," Derek said, indicating the bleached pristine cloth napkin that had been folded into the shape of a swan on Stiles' place setting. "What's going on?"

"Your last name is Hale?"

"Yeah… Dr. Derek Sebastian Hale. You can't tell me you've never seen my billboards?" Derek said.

"I just know someone else with the last name Hale, is all," Stiles said.

"I wouldn't be surprised. It's a pretty common name."

"Must be," Stiles said absently.

The rest of the dinner was spent with Stiles trying not to see Peter in Derek's features. He was failing miserably.

"You said you forgave your uncle," Stiles said. "Did you forgive the other men involved?"

"Yeah," Derek replied.

"Why?" Stiles asked. The word came out sounding confrontational. Stiles cleared his throat, continuing. "I would never have forgiven them… any of them. I would want to make them hurt worse than they made me hurt."

Derek sat back. His face was a mask, not revealing any of the thoughts going through his head. "Is there anyone you'd like to hurt for hurting you?"

Stiles shrugged. "A few people, yeah."

"And what would it achieve?" Derek asked. "How would inflicting that pain lessen what you went through?"

"I would know they didn't get off scot-free," Stiles said passionately.

"But it doesn't erase the fact that they already hurt you," Derek pointed out.

"But those people don't deserve forgiveness!"

"You're exactly right," Derek said. Suddenly Stiles was confused. Derek smiled a kind, nearly fatherly smile that revealed wisdom well beyond his years. "They didn't deserve my forgiveness. Not a single one of them did."

"Then why did you give it?"

Derek sighed. "Because I needed it. Holding on to that rage, that anger—and believe me, I held onto it for _years_ —did absolutely nothing but make me miserable and angry at the world. It was like cutting my own arm over and over and expecting that somehow, they would die from exsanguination. All I did was just keep hurting myself. When I forgave them, those cuts all began to heal. They left behind scars, of course, but they healed and suddenly, I began to feel happy. I was able to seek and find fulfillment in my daily life. I got my revenge by living my life to its fullest and it couldn't feel better."

Stiles listened to what Derek said and let it swirl around in his mind, the way a connoisseur might do the same to a fine wine, allowing the complexity to reveal itself over time. Suddenly, he wanted to be able to give that forgiveness and live his best possible life, but he was merely a whore. "I'm stuck in this situation, though. The people who I would need to forgive keep hurting me and I can't stop it."

"Sure you can," Derek replied. "You can get out of the situation exactly the same way you got into it. Make the necessary difficult decisions."

Stiles chewed the inside of his lip. He fought back tears. He couldn't cry right now. He couldn't cry in this place, wearing these clothes. There was still a lump in his throat that made talking difficult. "I'm scared that if I leave he'll kill me. And I don't have anywhere to go."

Derek knew he had made a breakthrough. He had to choose his next action wisely, though. Were he to come on too strong, it would scare Stiles and that was exactly the opposite of what he wanted. He wanted to help the boy. He wanted to stop the pain. "Then make a plan. Make a plan B and a plan C. I can put you in touch with resources that could help you, Stiles. Whatever it is you need, say the word. You'll have it."

Stiles shook his head. "I could never owe you something like that. I could never repay a debt that big. And before you say it, I've been told once before that the help I was given came free of charge. It is _never_ free of charge."

"If you could do any job, what would you want to do?" Derek asked, trying a different direction.

"Work for the FBI," Stiles replied without hesitation.

"Then that's your goal. Anything that happens along the way, is a stepping stone toward that goal," Derek offered.

"The FBI requires good grades and years of training. I didn't even finish high school."

"There are tons of free programs to help you get your GED. Keep the excuses coming, Stiles, I've got an answer for each and every one of them," Derek said, flashing a knowing smile.

"Fine," Stiles ceded. "Maybe I'll let you help me get my GED. Since it's free and all."

"Good," Derek said, proud of himself. "Then I'll make the call tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's Sunday," Stiles reminded him.

"I've got people." They finished eating and Derek paid the bill, leaving Braeden a generous tip. They walked out into the brisk night, the valet quickly jumping to get the car. Derek raised a staying hand. "We're going to go for a bit of a walk first."

"Alright sir," the valet replied. "Let us know when you need your car!"

Unable to control himself, Derek pressed Stiles against the stone wall and kissed him. Stiles melted into the kiss, thankful for the hard surface of the building since he couldn't support himself. Derek's touch and specifically his kisses always made Stiles weak. "I can only think of one thing that could add to your beauty, Stiles," Derek said breathlessly when the kiss broke.

"And what's that?" Stiles asked playfully.

"Do you trust me?"

"Yeah," Stiles replied.

"Stay right here… I'll be back in a moment," Derek replied. He pulled away and dashed off, going into a nearby building, leaving Stiles alone.

Stiles smoothed the fine fabric of his new clothes and buttoned the top button of the sport jacket, though despite his wishes to the contrary, this action did nothing to fight the increasingly bitter cold. Stiles rubbed his hands together, breathing into them, hoping to warm them with his breath. "Damn I hope he hurries up," he whispered to himself.

"Stiles?" a familiar voice said. Stiles looked up to see the handsome face of one of his regular clients.

"Theo," Stiles replied. "Hi."

Theo flashed his smirk and pushed against Stiles in the way that men only did to their prostitutes. "I was just thinking to myself that I need someone to warm my bed tonight." He reached out and grabbed Stiles' hand, bringing it to his crotch. Stiles could feel the erection. "Do you feel how cold it is? I know you have somewhere warm I can put it…"

Stiles snatched his hand away, disgusted. "I'm not having sex with you tonight, Theo," he grumbled.

Theo cocked his head to the side. "Suddenly you're in fancy clothes and you're too good to fuck me?" He grabbed Stiles' wrist, yanking it painfully. Stiles felt like the bones were going to pop.

"Theo, you're hurting me. I'm guessing you're drunk. I'm out with someone else right now. Go home," Stiles said. He liked what it felt like saying no. It felt empowering.

"Fuck that," Theo snarled, yanking Stiles' arm once more, dragging him into an alley nearby.

* * *

He had never fallen so fast or so hard for anyone. When he touched Stiles, it could be described as nothing short of electric. But if he wanted this to move beyond the relationship between a prostitute and the guy having sex with said prostitute, he needed to show how he felt.

Stiles had been hurt and betrayed by too many people to accept anything other than action, and event that might not be enough. His statement could not be too extravagant. He settled on something that was as simple as it was romantic. A single red rose. There was a rooftop garden in this building.

He knew about the garden because he helped to plant it. It had been his therapy when he was recovering from what happened to him as a child. Now, it was maintained by a friend of his who let him come up at any time.

He perused the rose bush, trying to find the most perfect rose. "It's been a while."

"I know," Derek replied.

"A red rose… declaring your love, Derek?"

"Well, I'm trying to," Derek replied. "It's a complicated situation. To be honest, I'm not exactly sure how he feels. It's kind of odd not having the other person falling over themselves for me."

"You look good, Derek," he said.

"Why, Scott," Derek replied in a playful, teasing tone. "Are you trying to declare your intentions for me?"

Scott laughed. "I'm just glad you're finally happy, Derek. There's something about you… it's radiating off of you. This guy… is he special?"

"I certainly think so," Derek replied.

"Then go get him," Scott said, playfully but encouragingly nudging Derek's elbow.

Derek smiled and headed downstairs. He hit the down button for the elevator. He didn't want to be completely out of breath when he said what he wanted to say to Stiles. "Fuck," he whispered, realizing he hadn't actually prepared what he was going to say. He wasn't good at improvising.

When he finally walked out of the building, he turned, expecting to see Stiles still waiting for him. Instead he saw nothing. He felt a tightening in his chest and suddenly he couldn't breathe. He thought Stiles cared enough to wait for him. He was wrong.

He tried to make himself feel better by telling himself that Stiles was just a prostitute and immediately filled with anger at himself for thinking it. Stiles was so much more than that and how dare he even entertain that thought?

The rose fell to the ground and Derek turned back toward the restaurant to pick up his car.

He almost didn't hear it. He almost kept walking, but something told him to turn around. Something told him to go toward the noise he heard.

* * *

Theo's lips were cold and wet against his cheek and neck. He wanted to fight, but Peter's workout made it so that Stiles didn't really build much muscle mass, and that he stayed physically weaker than his clients. "Theo please don't do this…"

"I gave you a chance to do it in a bed. You decided to make this difficult, Stiles," he said. "Besides, you've never much cared when I've forced you before. In fact, you really enjoyed it."

"He'll find me… he'll come looking for me," Stiles said, hoping he was right.

"Who? Peter?" Theo scoffed. "He's going to more angry that you didn't just open your legs for me than anything."

"Get off of me!" Stiles yelled, trying to leverage anything he could to get Theo off of him.

"Or what, Stiles?" Theo taunted. "You won't suck me after? You're a fucking whore. You've let hundreds of men do unspeakable things to you. You should be thankful that I'm willing to put my cock anywhere near you."

Stiles didn't remember when Derek appeared, but suddenly Theo was smashing into the opposite wall. "He told you to get the fuck off of him!"

Theo fought his way back to his feet. "Dude, stay out of this. He's nothing but a prostitute. I'm just trying to get my five-finger discount."

Derek quickly closed the distance between the two of them. Theo raised his fist, trying to aim a punch but Derek countered it, grabbing his hand and bending the fingers back until he felt at least one of them break. He then spun and slammed Theo back into the wall, pinning him in place with his arm, which was firmly pressed against the man's windpipe. "If you ever touch him again, I will personally kill you. Get the fuck out of here and don't ever let me hear that you've even laid eyes on him again."

Theo nodded and Derek released him. He coughed once his windpipe was no longer being crushed. He waited until he was just far enough away from Derek to be safe before calling back to Stiles. "Just wait until I tell Peter. You think what I was going to do was bad…" Derek started to go after him and Theo ran off.

Derek turned around, shaking. "Are you hurt?" he asked. Stiles shook his head, still too scared to move. "Who was he talking about? Who is this Peter person?" Derek asked, fearing that he already knew the answer.

"Daddy," Stiles replied. "His real name is Peter."

Derek's nostrils flared. "He's the other Hale you know, isn't he?" Derek demanded. "My uncle is your pimp."

"I don't know… maybe?" Stiles replied. Everything was happening so fast that Stiles wasn't sure what was going on.

Suddenly Derek was right in front of him, a desperate look in his eyes. His hands grasped Stiles' shoulders. For the first time since Stiles had met him, Derek didn't sound sure of himself. He sounded afraid. He sounded desperate. "Stiles, you can't go back there. Please… don't go back there. If I had known that it was _him_ … Stiles please, what can I do? What can I say to make you believe that this is serious?"

"I don't have anywhere else to go, Derek," Stiles replied.

"You can stay with me. I have tons of rooms. I'll put you up in a hotel if I need to… just please, Stiles… You don't know how much danger you're in," Derek pleaded.

Stiles shook his head, trying to break out of Derek's tight grip. "I won't be your live-in prostitute, Derek. I did that once and look how well it ended up for me."

A tear rolled down Derek's cheek. His voice became more desperate as he spoke. "Don't you realize this is about way more than the fact that you're a prostitute? He saw my face yesterday. He knows I'm the one who's with you. He sent his own nephew off to get raped for days on end. If you go back there, if you spend too much time around Peter Hale, he will destroy everything that's good or special about you."

"Derek, he already has!" Stiles shot back.

It was like he had been punched in the chest. He shook his head. "No… Stiles… I see everything good about you. It's all ahead of you Stiles, but you have to make the right decisions. Make one of those decisions now. We don't ever have to have sex again if it means that you're safe from him. Stiles, _please…_ "

Stiles' eyes searched Derek's. "I'm scared…"

"As am I," Derek admitted.

"And to be honest, I don't really _know_ you. I just met you yesterday and, sure we've had a lot of great sex but trusting a sexy man with the last name Hale got me into this situation in the first place," Stiles said. He turned around on the spot where he stood, squeezing his hands on the side of his head. "This situation is so fucked up!" he shouted into the night, at nobody in particular.

Derek sighed. "Stiles, I can't imagine what must be going through your head. But the nature of our relationship can change. I won't have sex with you."

"How very kind of you," Stiles quipped. "I don't want to be your charity case, Derek!"

Stiles could tell Derek was holding something in. "I can't watch someone else get hurt by him. Not someone I care about."

Stiles scoffed. "You don't care about me, Derek. You care about the orgasms you have after beating and fucking me senseless. We're from two different worlds… We're the Prince and the Prostitute." Stiles moved his hand rapidly, indicating the empty space between him and Derek. "There's no future for anything between us except for me being your good little whore who says 'yes sir' and 'no sir' and calls you Master and sucks your dick."

Tears were starting to well in Derek's eyes. "God damn it, Stiles!" he yelled in frustration. "Why are you being so difficult?"

Stiles set his jaw. He was shivering from the cold night air. "I'm not being difficult," he said through a strained voice. "You're just used to me being easy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: So I know this chapter is a little shorter, but I thought that was a good place to stop. Let me know what you thought and I love hearing feedback!


	5. Go to Church

"Stiles, I never thought of you as easy. When I first laid eyes on you, I saw a man who was sexy and confident," Derek said.

For some reason, it angered Stiles. "A few minutes into our first meeting, you were fingering me. People only do that when they think that person is easy."

Derek sighed. "Stiles, I assumed that everything we were doing was completely consensual. If I assumed incorrectly, I'm very sorry."

"Derek, stop," Stiles said firmly. "Everything we've done _has_ been consensual. You obeyed when I used the safe word. When it comes to sex, I trust you. When it comes to everything else, you still have to earn that trust." He paused, sighing. "This is ruining our time together. Let's just go back to your house and fuck and have a good time and try to forget about this."

Derek's brow furrowed and he cocked his head to the side. "How can you just compartmentalize like that? My uncle hurt you. Why would you still want to have sex with me?"

"Because you aren't your uncle. We should just finish out our weekend together and I'll think about what you've said. I won't make a decision until then," Stiles replied.

Again, Derek sighed. "What if I'm no longer in the mood?"

Stiles shrugged. "Then it will be a boring time."

"Come on," Derek said, guiding Stiles out of the alley. "Did he hurt you?" he asked, meaning Theo.

Stiles shook his head. "He just got a bit handsy. He's done far worse before. Did you really mean it when you said you'd kill him?"

"It would probably be more accurate to say that I would make him wish I killed him," Derek replied with no trace of irony in his voice.

"I don't see you being capable to of something like that," Stiles said.

"You'd be surprised at what I'm capable of," Derek said simply, causing Stiles to pause.

"For the record, comments like that don't instill a lot of trust."

"Duly noted."

They returned to the valet and picked up the car before returning back to his house. Stiles quickly removed the suit, leaving himself wearing just the jockstrap and plug. Being mostly naked again caused him to instantly grow an erection. Derek smiled, his eyes raking up and down the boy. "Then you might as well put your collar and harness back on."

Stiles did as told. When he returned to the room, now sporting the collar and harness, he saw that Derek, too, had changed. He was wearing his harness and the leather cuff on his upper arm. He had also donned a pair of leather chaps that left only his cock and balls exposed, as well as a pair of black leather boots. Stiles gasped at the sight. His eyes grew bright as he watched Derek's hard cock. He pointed at Derek's erect cock. "Is that seat taken?"

Derek smiled. "That was very naughty," he said. Once again, they had easily fallen into their roles. Stiles dropped to his knees. Derek took a seat on the couch, the leather creaking enticingly with his movement. Derek broke the character for a moment. "Do you want to play now?" he asked seriously. "I know I said that we didn't have to have sex again. I want to earn your trust, Stiles. If you think I'm taking advantage of you, I am begging you now… please say something."

Stiles crawled on all fours up to Derek. "I know I was being kind of an ass earlier. But I really do like being your sub. As a Dom, you bring me comfort. Keep training me the way you've been training me and I'll come to trust you more. You were the first person who ever gave me a choice, Derek. That means a lot to me."

Derek leaned forward and kissed Stiles deeply. "Good," he said as the kiss broke. "Again, same rules apply. Use the safe word if you need to. You will resume calling me Master Derek and Sir."

Stiles nodded, grinning eagerly. Derek turned on the TV and reclined back, his cock pointing straight up. Stiles looked at it, the tip glistening with the bead of precum that had already begun to form. His eyes darted back and forth from Derek's face to his cock, unsure of what he was expected to do.

Derek's cock twitched, but his face remained an emotionless mask. He wasn't going to give any further instruction until Stiles asked for it. He flipped through the channels before settling on a historical documentary. As a way of giving Stiles a hint, he propped his feet up on a nearby ottoman, effectively imprisoning Stiles between his legs.

Stiles frowned. "Sir, what is it that you want me to do?"

Derek's response was simple. He wanted to see how Stiles interpreted the instruction. It would say a lot about how he saw their dynamic. "Go to church."

Stiles thought he misheard. "I'm sorry, sir?"

Derek repeated himself. "Go to church."

Apparently Stiles _hadn't_ misheard. He wasn't religious though. He sat still for a moment before considering what to do. At last, he acted. Using just his tongue, he began lapping at Derek's large, heavy balls. Though it was difficult, he also managed to lap at his Dom's taint, savoring it as he poured everything into his action. He kept looking up at Derek for some sort of indication that he was correctly following the instruction, but Derek seemed not to even notice him. This only made Stiles redouble his effort as he kissed and licked every square inch of skin he could get his mouth on.

He spent a good fifteen minutes on each of Derek's nipples. He paid special attention to the Dom's biceps before working his way down Derek's right arm, making sure to suck each of his Dom's fingers and then moved along to the left arm, repeating it. He traversed back to Derek's chest, worshiping every abdominal muscle visible—which there were many—before arriving at last to the large cock.

Stiles finally asked permission to extend his worship to the beautiful glans that was now leaking a steady stream.

"No," Derek replied simply.

Stiles whimpered. "But why?"

"Because I think you've neglected my ass," Derek said, almost bored.

"But sir, you're sitting down. Your chaps also keep your ass covered," Stiles complained.

"And yet you didn't ask me to let you at it," Derek sighed. " _Tsk_ , _tsk_ , _tsk_. How do we overcome this?"

"If you need to punish me sir, then you should," Stiles said, his lip trembling slightly. He'd been enjoying this so far.

Derek shook his head. "Instead of punishing you right off the bat, I think I will turn this into a teachable moment." He turned off the TV and stood up, indicating that he wanted Stiles to follow him. They returned to his bedroom where he rummaged through a bedside table and found a dildo and some lube. He then removed his chaps and secured his legs into harnesses that helped keep them elevated, giving Stiles unfettered access to his hole. "I am a complete top. I do not like to bottom at all." He handed Stiles the dildo and the lube. "However you are going to use the tools you have to get me to come from anal stimulation alone. I'll give you an hour and a half to do it and if you don't, _then_ I will punish you. Severely."

Stiles nodded, understanding the assignment at hand. He pressed his lips to the hole, kissing it before sucking at it for several moments. He was experienced with this sort of thing.

Early on in his training as a prostitute, Peter had made him perform analingus on him and each of the other boys until his jaw ached. He had even once made Stiles bring Isaac to orgasm from it alone. This wasn't hard, though. Isaac was a bottom through-and-through. Peter regularly took delight in making Isaac come from just bouncing up and down on his or one of the other boys' cocks.

He used every technique he could before looking up to see that Derek had gone almost completely flaccid. "Sir, I'm trying, I really am!" he said after having just finished tongue-fucking his Dom.

"I know. I can feel you down there," Derek said. "But I told you, I'm a total top. You're going to have to try something different."

Stiles nodded, looking at Derek's hole, which was wet and pink. He poured some lube into his hand and covered his index finger in it. Slowly he pushed it in. He gasped at how tight and warm his Dom was. He began slowly fucking Derek with his finger, slowly adding a second and a third. This resulted in Derek going completely soft. His cock twitched only slightly when Stiles massaged his prostate. Stiles then switched tactics again, trying to use the dildo, but to no avail.

"Sir, how much more time do I have?" Stiles asked. He knew the clock had to be nearly out.

"About 40 minutes," Derek replied in a tone that told Stiles he had been counting down the minutes until it would simply stop.

Stiles stared at the hole. It was lubed and stretched, but nothing had worked. Finally he remembered Derek explaining that he could only get off when there was the domination factor. Stiles decided to act on that. He quickly rubbed lube on his own cock and slowly pressed it into his Dom.

"What are you doing?" Derek asked through gritted teeth as Stiles passed the tight inner ring.

"Sir, you told me to go to church," he replied. "So I'm giving you my offering. Your body is my church. Your cock is my altar. But I can't worship at the altar." He slowly pushed himself in.

He could tell that Derek didn't get fucked that often. Even after all that work Stiles had put into loosening him up, Derek was so incredibly tight that the breath almost got caught in his throat. To Stiles' surprise, his Dom's cock began to stiffen.

"Every inch inside you is an offering. I won't stop until I've fully satisfied my Master." Stiles looked down and Derek was completely hard. He began to pick up the pace. "Every thrust is a supplication. And if I come, then it's only to show you the pure rapture that serving my Master brings me."

Suddenly Derek was panting. His skin had begun to glisten and his cock was twitching. "Keep going," he moaned, gripping the headboard.

Stiles was having fun. He wondered if he felt this tight and hot when Derek fucked him. He picked up speed. He felt like he was going to come, but he had to hold off. He needed to get Derek off first. "Sir, do you feel how hard I am? Every aspect of you makes me this hard. If I could provide you even a fraction of the pleasure you provide me, I would consider it an honor."

Derek's face was growing red. He was meeting Stiles' thrusts and then the white globs came bursting out of him, catching him as much by surprise as it caught Stiles, who immediately stopped thrusting. He didn't want to come inside Derek without permission. Derek was letting out a series of orgasmic moans and still more thick gobs of come covered his chest and abdomen.

When Derek's orgasm finally started subsiding, Stiles pulled out and licked up the semen covering his Dom's chest, swallowing it down. He then moved so that he was lying beside Derek. "I didn't think you'd succeed," his Dom panted.

"I've been making men come for a very long time, sir," Stiles replied playfully. "I find that I'm actually quite good at it."

"Never before in my life have I come from anal penetration," Derek said, still amazed. "That was fantastic. You did well. I dare say you've earned a reward."

"I just swallowed my reward, didn't I, sir?" Stiles asked. That had always been the reward with them.

"Oh, my Good Boy," Derek cooed. He climbed on top of Stiles and removed the plug. Stiles had forgotten it was in there, but Derek hadn't.

Derek quickly replaced it with his cock. Derek rarely needed much time to recover and this was no different. He started pounding himself into his sub. Stiles scratched at the silky sheets beneath him. His body rocked under the force of Derek's thrusts. Sweat dripped down Derek's nose. It was drenching his hair. It rained on to Stiles' face. Each thrust was sharp and spoke of ownership and desire and Stiles thrashed beneath him, wanting every single bit of it.

When Derek came first, he looked disappointed. "You didn't come," he observed.

"I was really close," Stiles said as though it were a consolation.

Derek pursed his lips. "Stiles, it was my intent for you to come."

Suddenly, Stiles felt as if he'd somehow failed or disappointed Derek. "I'm sorry, sir… I really tried."

"Finish yourself off. But stare only into my eyes as you do it," Derek ordered. Stiles nodded and reached between his legs, gently stroking his member. His body trembled with the added pleasure. He picked up on the speed and his ass twitched around the hard cock inside it, driving his pleasure further.

He felt his orgasm approaching and then it hit him like a train, causing him to shoot all over his face, neck, and chest. Derek watched with a proud smile on his face.

"You've done so well today, my Good Boy," he said.

* * *

The next morning, Stiles woke up alone in the bed. He grabbed his tooth brush and toothpaste from the backpack and brushed his teeth, replacing the taste of semen with the taste of cool spearmint. He wandered out into the kitchen to find Derek wearing some loose pajama bottoms (and nothing else) making quiches.

"Good morning," he said, placing a glass of orange juice and a croissant roll. Somehow Stiles knew that the croissant had been hand-made by Derek.

"Good morning," Stiles replied. "Everything smells so good! What's the occasion?"

Derek shrugged. "Well, I have to bring you back in the morning. I want to make every moment count."

Derek continued cooking until there was nothing more he could do until the quiches finished baking.

"Where did you learn to cook like that?" Stiles asked.

"Google is a wonderful invention," Derek replied with a laugh.

"There's no way you learned how to do that from Google," Stiles said.

Derek used his index finger to draw an X over his perfectly chiseled chest. "Cross my heart and hope to die," he said. He noticed Stiles' eyes linger on his nipples before returning to his face. He smirked.

"Well it smells good. I'm sure it will taste good, too," Stiles said. "How long does it have to cook?"

"About 40 minutes or so," Derek replied.

"How do you want me to serve you while it's cooking?" Stiles asked.

Derek shook his head. "No sex yet." He took Stiles' hand and led him to the couch, laying him down and crawling on top of him.

"I thought you said no sex," Stiles chuckled.

"I'm not going to fuck you," Derek said. "Yet." He slowly pressed his lips against the boy's. He put in just enough hesitation to make Stiles come up to greet the kiss. He deepened it, allowing his tongue to enter the boy's mouth, tasting the minty toothpaste. "You brushed your teeth…"

"I had dick breath," Stiles said shyly.

"But you had _my_ dick on your breath. I like it when my dick is on your breath," Derek said. "I feel like we had a really long conversation about that yesterday."

"The thing about dick breath," Stiles said, "is that it's incredibly easy to get… and pretty fun sometimes, too."

On instinct alone, Stiles opened his legs so that Derek could more comfortably fit between them. He could feel how hard Derek was and he was just as hard.

"Is it fun for you?" Derek asked.

Stiles shrugged. "I've never really thought about it."

Derek ground his hard cock against Stiles. "Let me rephrase: do you enjoy sucking _my_ cock?"

"Master Derek," Stiles said, bringing a smile to Derek's lips. "You're the first person in my life who has ever cared about whether or not I enjoy what I'm doing. For that reason alone, I enjoy it very much."

The smile faded. "You shouldn't have sex with anyone who doesn't care about your pleasure, Stiles."

"I think you might be new to this prostitute thing, sir," Stiles replied. "I'm paid to make sure _you_ get off."

"Are there men who fuck you when you don't want them to?" Derek asked.

"I know what you're trying to do," Stiles said.

"I'm trying to get to know you," Derek replied.

"You're trying to get me to admit that I want to stay here serving you instead of going back there," Stiles sighed.

Derek smiled. "So you _do_ want to stay here and ride my cock instead of those others?"

"Of course I do," Stiles admitted. "Everything we do is so hot. I actually get to come with you. And I love how we stay in constant communication and I'm more than just a body for you to beat and a hole for you to fuck."

"Then why don't you just stay with me?" Derek asked.

"Because I can't, Derek," Stiles said, bringing his hand up to caress the side of his Dom's fuzzy cheek. "We don't have a future other than this, but I will look forward to every time you visit me. And who knows? Maybe I'll be allowed to come visit you on official business more often…"

"I don't want it to be just business for you," Derek said. "Because then it makes me no better than the men who actually do take advantage of you. Besides, it's sexy when you're enjoying it as much as I am."

"I hope you never become like one of them," Stiles sighed.

Derek kissed him again. "I want you to tell me if I ever cross that boundary."

Stiles nodded. "Alright."

They resumed kissing for a while and Stiles found he truly enjoyed making out with Derek. Stiles lost track of time, but Derek didn't. He finally pulled away to say, "Breakfast is done…"

Stiles pouted, wanting to continue kissing Derek, but followed him. It felt so natural to be naked around him. It felt natural to be naked in general… Stiles rarely wore clothes.

Derek took the quiches out of the oven and set them to cool. "What do you want to try today?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Are there any fantasies you have that you want to act out? Any domination scenarios that you think would be fun?" Derek clarified.

Stiles shrugged. "I really liked it when I was trying to earn back status as your Good Boy," he said.

Derek smiled. "After what you did yesterday, you'll forever be my Good Boy."

"Really?" Stiles asked. "Is there nothing I could do to be naughty again?"

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Do you think you need to be punished for something?"

"I think I wouldn't mind it…" Stiles let silence settle between them for a few moments. "You're a psychologist, right, so you've done therapy sessions before?"

"Yeah."

"Has there ever been a time when you've wanted to fuck one of your patients?" he asked.

"Absolutely not," Derek replied. "My patients come to me because they need help. I would never violate that trust with sex!" Derek sounded defensive, almost angry at the insinuation.

"I'm not saying you would. I was just saying that maybe that would be hot…"

Derek shook his head vehemently. "I'm sorry, but that's one role play scenario I will never do. It's incredibly abusive."

"Sorry," Stiles mumbled. "I guess I didn't think of it like that."

"So that's off the table, but is there something else?" Derek asked, wanting to show Stiles that he still very much wanted to let Stiles have his fun.

Stiles thought for a moment, letting his eyes traverse Derek as he contemplated. After a while, he spoke. "What if you're the priest for some primitive religion and I'm a sacrifice?"

Derek's eyes glinted with the possibilities. "That's really hot." He then served the quiche. "You're going to need your strength then…"

As they ate, Stiles was too focused on the food to see that Derek was watching him. It wasn't merely observation, either. Derek was looking at him as though the sun rose and set and the moon and stars shone by Stiles' word alone.

* * *

Derek circled Stiles who was strapped to a table. Large candles flickered around him, providing the only light in the room. Stiles was completely naked, not even wearing his harness and collar. The role play had been going on for about an hour. Stiles was being punished so that the spirits could accept his sacrifice, despite the fact that he was not a virgin.

Before the scene began, Derek told him that he would be using a combination of floggers and whips. Stiles had requested he leave the canes out of it. He hated canes. Derek was also going to use candle wax and even electro torture. Due to the nature of the narrative, they would not be having sex during the course of the scene. It would simply be the torture component. Derek reaffirmed their safe words what seemed like hundreds of times. "This is going to be intense, Stiles. Use it if you need it. I'll keep an eye on you too."

Derek had. The flogger had surprised Stiles. Its kissing sting against his skin lit his nerves afire. He had struggled against the ropes tying him down. It was part of the play. He actually quite enjoyed Derek's use of the flogger.

The wax had been a different story. His skin was already red and irritated from the whips and floggers. When he cried out from the hot wax, it was for real.

"The spirits can't see you until you're pure enough," Derek said. He was wearing a richly dark robe and the way it fell open, revealing his powerful chest and sexy stomach turned Stiles on. "So perhaps you shouldn't be able to see either…"

"Please sir…" Stiles begged, playing his role and loving it. He did feel some trepidation. He didn't like having his senses taken from him, but he trusted Derek. And the last time he had needed to use his safe word, Derek had stopped instantly.

The blindfold locked Stiles into a world of pitch black. The sound of wooshing air and the stinging crack of noise as the whip brought streaks of red to Stiles' skin was the only thing he could hear.

Derek worked him over for hours, alternating between the wax and the beatings. Finally he felt something cold on the insides of his thighs. He jumped, not expecting it.

"Alright Stiles, I want you to listen to me very closely," he said, dropping out of the character they were playing. "I'm about to use a TENS unit on you. Have you ever heard of them?" Stiles shook his head. "Normally, these devices are used to provide relief from pain by sending mild electrical shocks. It really feels quite good. However, that's at a low intensity. At a higher intensity it can cause a pins-and-needles like pain, muscle cramps and spasms… and I even have an attachment that I can insert into you that will cause your anus to contract. Has anyone ever done this to you?"

"No sir," Stiles replied.

"Then we're going to try it slowly and gradually crank it up. I think that you might enjoy it, though," Derek said. "But if it seems too intense with everything else going on, we can stop."

Stiles nodded and Derek proceeded. Derek was right, too. On the lower levels, his muscles vibrated as the electricity pulsed pleasurably into them. Slowly Derek turned it up and it began to cause pain from deep within the muscle. Stiles cried out, thrashing a bit, trying to knock the electrode pad loose from his skin. He didn't realize it was covered in an adhesive that kept it from being easily dislodged.

* * *

He wasn't happy. He wasn't miserable, but he definitely wasn't happy. There were times when Isaac felt as though maybe if he got out of here, he could actually _be_ an Abercrombie model instead of just playing one for the pervs who loved to fuck him because he looked so much younger than he actually was.

He resented the way men simply used his body. He resented when his "brother", Jordan, would just bend him over and start fucking him. He especially hated the nights he spent with Daddy because he was often awakened throughout the night to the feel of a cock inside him, thrusting away without even asking for permission.

There was a time when he might have thought that was rape. But Peter had taught him differently. Peter taught him that since he loved him... since Peter loved _all_ of his "sons"... it couldn't be rape. Since his brothers loved him, it couldn't be rape. Peter had taught him that since so few of their clients allowed them to come, it was their duty to provide that release to their brothers. But nobody ever provided that for him except Stiles. When Stiles did it, he was genuinely being helpful. He asked permission. Stiles refused to finish until he had.

But Isaac had overheard Peter and Jordan's talk. He knew that they were planning on doing something terrible to Stiles. So what if Stiles found love and left? They should be happy for him. They shouldn't try to hurt him for it.

Isaac had always been jealous of Danny and Jackson. They loved each other immensely and despite what they did, their relationship was strong. They had another person on whose shoulder they could cry, who could hug and kiss away the pain that so often accompanied what they did.

Isaac had Stiles, but Stiles had never seen him as anything more than a friend, and sometimes that hurt worse than anything Peter or his clients managed to do to him.

* * *

Stiles' hips bucked, seemingly of their own accord. The metal insert was making it seem and feel as though he were getting fucked, even though he wasn't. His muscles were twitching and contracting and the electrical currents were running through him, stimulating his prostate over and over again. His belly was covered in the remnants of what felt like a hundred orgasms. It had been far fewer than that, but the more he had the more painful they were becoming. It said something of Derek's skill as a Dom that he could turn the most pleasurable experience a person could have into something agonizing and therefore infinitely more enticing.

Slowly, Derek began adding additional elements. Stiles tried to endure until he simply couldn't. He couldn't remember the safe word. He couldn't remember anything. He just needed to get the fuck out of these damned restraints. He screamed and thrashed fought hard. Derek realized instantly that something was wrong. He stopped everything.

"Stiles I'm here," he said gently as he worked to get the blindfold off and undo the restraints. Stiles' torso was covered in wax and semen. Slowly Derek pulled the electric plug out of the boy and took him into his arms. He was trembling, still unconsciously struggling against restraints that were no longer there. Derek hugged him close. "It's alright, Stiles, I stopped. No more…"

Stiles' face was wet from tears. Derek was unsure how long he had been crying. "I'm sorry, Derek," he whimpered. "I couldn't do this…."

"Never apologize for not being able to do something," Derek said softly. "You had a lot going on and you did amazingly. What do you need from me right now?"

Stiles was still trembling slightly, making his voice also shake as he spoke. "Just hold me, please!"

Derek nodded and pulled Stiles even closer. "Alright."

They sat there for a long time with Stiles just breathing in Derek's scent and Derek holding the boy tightly. Derek ran his fingers through the boy's light brown hair. He loved every exquisite detail of this boy, from the pale freckled skin to the way his eyes lit up despite the choking amounts of sadness behind them.

They ate dinner that night at the table. Derek had once again outdone himself with his cooking skills. They hadn't shared two words for a very long time until Stiles finally said, "I trust you, Derek."

It caught the Dom off guard. "I appreciate that. Thank you."

"This doesn't mean that I'm staying here indefinitely," he added. "And I still need to go back there."

Derek didn't argue. He didn't want to scare Stiles off of the path he had chosen. "Of course. If you ever want to come back, say the word." Derek got up and wrote down his address and phone number on a sheet of paper. "I will answer that number night or day. If you need to take a cab out here, no matter the charge, I'll pay it."

"I have stuff there," Stiles replied. "Stuff that's important to me. And if I leave, I want to be able to help my brothers leave, too."

"I'll help any way I can," Derek said. "You just tell me what you want or need."

This time it was Stiles' turn to watch Derek, though it wasn't with the unending admiration that Derek's gaze held. It was more scrutinizing. He realized that even if all of this went south and Derek broke his promise and he _did_ become this man's live-in whore, there were far worse things that could happen to him. Assuming, of course, that the caring Dom thing hadn't just been an act. Stiles wasn't sure he would survive that particular betrayal should it come to pass. Trusting Derek was something so far out of his comfort zone that it twisted Stiles' stomach into knots, but what other choice did he have? He didn't want to be a whore any longer. He didn't want to feel other men groping, using, and seeding his body.

"What are you thinking about?" Derek asked, aware that the gears were turning in his sub's head.

"Everything," Stiles replied honestly.

"Care to be more specific?"

"Not particularly," Stiles said. "Because then you'll do that thing where you go into shrink-mode and I don't want that."

"Fair enough," Derek said with a shrug, standing and removing his now empty plate from the table.

Stiles' was still mostly full. Surprisingly, he didn't have much of an appetite. "If I ask you something, will you answer me honestly?"

"Of course," Derek replied, returning to his seat. He interlaced his fingers as he rested his hands on the tabletop.

"What made you join the club in the first place? How did you find out about it… what makes a guy like you want to come to a place like that? And how come I never saw you before the night at that party?"

Derek sighed, sitting back. His hands moved to his lap and he looked straight at Stiles as he spoke. "There are websites out there that only exist in a special part of the internet. They allow for nearly complete anonymity. It's on this part of the web that you can find all sorts of vices. There was a website advertising the sexiest guys around and to mingle with them, you had to join the club. The entry fee is incredibly steep, as are the dues. It was apparent that only a certain caliber of person was being solicited for this particular website's services. And if you were able to read enough between the lines, you understood what was being offered to you. There are photos of you guys posted online… videos, too. I joined the club. I went only for drinks though, and watched, wanting to see you. It was advertised that you specialize in BDSM. I assumed you were a professional sub—I never imagined the reality of your situation, believe me!—but I never saw you. When I asked around, I was told that you were likely with a client and that your appointments typically ran quite long. The thing about Dom and sub relationships is that you should always just meet first, to see if you might be able to vibe well and have a good time.

"I saw that party as a way to finally get to meet you. I had seen every one of your videos and photos a hundred times. When you came over to me and gave me that lapdance, I thought that you looked even more amazing in person. I thought you were the sexiest guy I had ever seen before in my life," Derek confessed.

"You realize how creepy this is all coming across, right?" Stiles said.

Derek smiled and nodded. "Yes, I'm aware. But I don't want to lie to you, Stiles. You asked a question and I want to be entirely honest. I went to that club as an experienced Dom who wanted a sub he could play with. In a way, I found what I had been looking for."

"You also found a whole lot of other stuff, too," Stiles added.

Derek chuckled. "I did. But I like what I found, Stiles. Honestly, I do."

Stiles insisted on helping with the dishes that night and afterwards, they relaxed into the large bed and watched a movie. After the movie, Stiles asked if he could suck Derek off. Derek pulled back the blanket and sheet and spread his legs, giving Stiles unimpeded access. The sub took the large member in his mouth. When Stiles finally swallowed down the rewards for his labor, he moved back up to snuggle against Derek.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked.

"Sure," Derek replied. He could smell his semen on Stiles' breath and it made him hornier.

Stiles loved the feel of Derek's powerful arms around him. "If I lived here, would I still be your sub? Would you still be my Dom?"

"That's entirely up to you," Derek replied. "I would love to have that arrangement, but only if you were alright with it, too."

"What would it entail?"

"We could negotiate those terms based on what we both find sexy. It could be a 24/7 thing or if you want to get a job of your own, it could be a sort of as-we-want-to-do-it thing, too. We could set up a code word that has us drop into our roles," Derek replied.

"I'll let you know," Stiles replied, cuddling closely. Before long, they were asleep. It was the best sleep Stiles had ever gotten.

* * *

As Stiles walked into his apartment atop the club, he could still feel the way Derek had fucked him that morning. He could still taste Derek's kiss. "Please be careful," Derek had begged.

"I'm just going to get my stuff. I'll call a cab as soon as I'm out," he replied.

"Did you just get here?" Isaac asked, quickly closing the door behind him.

"Yeah," Stiles replied. He was rummaging through drawers, grabbing his valuable items.

"Stiles, I need to talk to you," Isaac said.

"I don't have a lot of time," Stiles replied.

"Neither do I," Isaac countered insistently.

The door opened again. Jordan stood there wearing only his jockstrap. It was a common enough sight. "Welcome back, little brother," he said, letting himself in. "I'm glad you got back when you did. We have a client waiting for you."

"I don't want to see any clients today," Stiles replied. "I just spent the last two days getting fucked six ways to Sunday. Can't you entertain him?"

Jordan shook his head. "He wants the BDSM flair. That's your specialty, little brother." Jordan focused his attention on Isaac. "Unless you're wanting me to fuck you right now, I'm not sure why you still need to be here."

"Stiles, let me know when you're done with that client so you and I can talk," Isaac said softly before leaving.

Jordan rummaged through the stores of BDSM paraphernalia that could be found throughout Stiles' apartment. "This client has a very specific request," Jordan explained. "He wants complete anonymity. He wants you to have a load in you when he comes to you, and he doesn't want you to speak at all during the session. You can groan and grunt and whimper, but that's it. He and his buddy are going to do you together. Do you have a load in you?"

Stiles nodded and Jordan laid him back and pulled out the fox tail plug and inspected him. "What are you doing?" Stiles demanded.

"You don't have enough," Jordan replied, pushing himself inside. He wasted no time getting to a punishing pace.

"Jordan stop…" Stiles said, trying to push the older boy off of him, but Jordan was too strong.

"He said he wasn't going to pay unless his demands were met to a T. Your client this morning didn't leave a big enough load in you. He wants to _really_ feel that you've been used by another man. It's sort of his thing," Jordan said, continuing to pump himself in and out of the younger boy. "Ah fuck!" he cried as he let loose a torrent of hot come. He had been holding that one in for a while. He smiled knowingly. This was just going to help him last longer when he and Peter returned in a few minutes.

Once he was finished, he put the hood on Stiles, which made it impossible for Stiles to see, open his mouth, and even made breathing a little difficult. It had an added side effect of muffling noise. Stiles couldn't make out the voices or what they were saying. He sat on his bed as he felt the weight of a large man on the bed. That man was strong because he picked Stiles up and allowed Stiles to rest on his body. The man reached down and guided his large cock inside, using the semen already in there as the only lube. Stiles groaned and grunted mostly from pain, but another person could easily have mistaken for pleasure. The bed creaked a bit as another was added to it. He felt his legs held up and apart.

Stiles realized what was about to happen. Both men were intending to fuck him at the same time. The second cock started forcing itself inside Stiles, stretching him to his limit. Every movement was agony for him and neither man seemed to want to work together. Both seemed insistent on getting their own pleasure. The two cocks battled inside Stiles and it seemed he would be the only casualty.

They took hours. By the time they were done, Stiles had lost count of the number of times they had used him. Every part of Stiles' body was sore. He waited several minutes after they left before he finally took the hood off. His legs were weak and he could barely walk. The copious amounts of seed they'd put in him dripped out of him and down his leg.

"You look like you were ridden hard and put away wet," Peter said as he went over a book of numbers.

"Whoever it was that I just serviced… I refuse to ever have him again," Stiles said, wincing as he tried to move.

"You want to make money, don't you, Stiles?" Peter replied.

"Well yeah, but—" Stiles started, but Peter cut him off.

"If it gets out that you're refusing clients, then the others will start refusing clients… then we'll get a reputation that the boys here are uppity and nobody will want to come… and we'll all be homeless," Peter said.

"We should get a say as to what gets done to our bodies, Peter," Stiles argued.

"You got a say when you agreed to have sex with men for money. Your men like it rough. That's your thing. This shouldn't be new to you," Peter said.

"Peter, what just happened to me was rape," Stiles said. "I didn't want it. I tried to say no and I was held down for hours while two men fucked me at the same time. Give us more say about who we see or I'm gone."

Stiles didn't see Peter pick up the glass on the desk, but he ducked as it went flying past his head, shattering against the far wall. "After everything I've done for you, you think you can just come in here and give me an ultimatum?" Angry Peter was not what Stiles had been wanting. Angry Peter was terrifying.

"Peter… I didn't mean it like that…"

"You think that you spend one weekend with a rich guy and suddenly you can walk right out of here?" Peter yelled, pushing Stiles back onto the bed. "Maybe it's time for you to learn what your real purpose is. I thought I taught you that lesson, but apparently you need a refresher."

"Peter, please…" Stiles cried, quickly ducking off the bed despite the agonizing pain wracking his body. He picked up one of the shards of glass, holding it in his hand, ready to use it as a weapon if needed.

"What the fuck do you think you're going to do with that?" Peter asked, pointing to the glass.

"Whatever I need to do to walk out of here safely," Stiles said. "I know that the man I was with this weekend is your nephew. I also know that you let him get raped over and over again because of your warped views of love and sex. I'm not going to let it happen to me anymore."

"That's not true!" Peter said, his eyes shining angrily. "Those men never raped Derek. I don't know what kind of lies he's told you. They were his boyfriends. They loved him. And if you think you're going to leave and go to him, you're fucking stupid. He's going to turn you into his personal sex slave."

Stiles shook his head. "No… because when I say I don't want sex, or I want it to stop, it stops. And besides, I'd rather be his sex slave than yours. He's a good guy, Peter. "

" _I'm_ a good guy!" Peter roared. "I took you in and gave you shelter, I gave you food, and I gave you a job when nobody would. I taught you something useful. And this is how you repay me?"

Stiles' head cocked to the side and his eyes narrowed slightly. "You _really_ see it that way, don't you?"

"What other way is there for me to see it?" Peter snapped.

The breath hitched in Stiles' throat. He would never be able to get Peter to understand how vastly different his experience of it all had been. In Peter's warped reality, what had been done was an act of love. This had been how Peter showed his love. And that made it more terrifying. "I'm going to leave now, Peter. If you try to stop me, I will defend myself and do whatever it takes. If you just let me go, I will never bother you again."

"You're just going to abandon your family? It would be that easy for you?" Peter demanded.

"This is the most fucked up family I've ever heard of. If this is what family is, I'd rather not have one," Stiles said. He turned on his heel and headed back to his apartment. He dumped out the sex toys from the pack and threw in some clothes, pulling on a bathing suit and a shirt before heading out into the cold night air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please leave comments. I thrive on them. Let me know what you think of the story so far.


	6. Words Left Unsaid

Stiles ran several blocks, turning down this road and that, trying to make sure that if Peter was following him, he would have a difficult time of it. When he finally felt it was safe to stop running, he ducked into an alley and began rummaging through his bag trying to find the scrap of paper with Derek's contact information.

He had turned all of the stuff he'd packed onto the dirty ground when he realized that the address was nowhere in his belongings. He had no idea how to get in contact with Derek and once again, he was homeless.

"FUCK!" he screamed, beating his fists against the brick wall. He paced back and forth, shivering violently. _What have I done,_ he thought. He had wanted to avoid homelessness and somehow managed to get himself right back there.

He stuffed his belongings back into the backpack and headed off back down the street. If he was going to sleep outside, he wanted to sleep outside one of the nice hotels or apartment buildings. The light around them meant he might be warmer… if he wasn't shooed away by a cop or security guard first.

When he found the building outside of which, he thought he might be able to sleep and he sat down, wrapping his arms around his knees in an attempt to conserve as much body heat as possible. He could feel it in the air that it was going to start snowing that night. Stiles braced himself for a miserable, wet, cold night.

He had only just managed to doze off when he felt large, rough hands shaking him awake. "I'm moving, I'm moving," Stiles grunted.

His eyes flew open wide, though when the man said, "You're the Fox aren't you?"

"I'm the performer formerly known as the Fox," Stiles corrected, moving to his feet. His joints felt stiff from the cold.

"You look like you're freezing," the man said. Stiles squinted, realizing that this was Chris, the guy who regularly was entertained by Jordan. If Jordan was busy, he'd take Isaac, but he had always been Jordan's client. "Why don't you come inside with me?"

Stiles knew the potential price of accepting this offer. He knew it all too well. But he figured he'd rather trade sex in a warm bed for frostbite out here. He nodded his assent and followed behind.

It didn't surprise Stiles in the least that Chris lived in the fancy apartment. This building housed several of their clients, if he wasn't mistaken. The apartment itself was huge. "Make yourself at home," Chris said, clicking a button on a remote and the fire burst to life in the fireplace, startling Stiles. Chris pulled down two wine glasses and popped the cork on a bottle of red. Stiles had never been much of a wine fan. In fact, he rarely drank and not just because he wasn't legally old enough. He much preferred a clear head when doing what he did for a living with a clear head. Drugs and alcohol were not a good mix with his job.

He wanted to decline, but Chris thrust the glass into his hand, raising it slightly with a smile. "To a fun night!" he said.

"To a fun night," Stiles repeated, taking a sip of the wine. Maybe it was his unsophisticated palette, but he thought it tasted bitter.

"So did you decide to go freelance?" Chris asked.

"What?"

"You're not at the Wolf Den," Chris observed. "I can only assume you've gone freelance, since you accepted my invitation up here."

"Oh," Stiles mumbled. "Yeah."

"So how much?" Chris asked.

"Two hundred," Stiles said quickly. "But bare will cost you extra."

Chris pulled out three hundred-dollar-bills. "I understand that you're one of the best professional submissives on the East Coast." Chris placed the money into Stiles' hand.

"I wasn't a submissive by choice," Stiles said. "And if you want to do any BDSM stuff, it's going to be a lot extra."

Chris made a sound that Stiles couldn't quite understand and peeled off his shirt and pants, leaving himself in just boxers. He motioned for Stiles to do the same. Guiding them into the bedroom, Chris lit some candles around the room. They smelled of sandalwood with lightly vanilla hints. "I hope you don't mind that we might not sleep a whole lot tonight."

"You paid for a good time," Stiles replied. "Take all night if you need."

"Are you up for an all-nighter?" Chris asked. He climbed onto the bed, roughly grabbing Stiles' package and forcing Stiles to do the same to him. He was rock-hard. "Because I know I am."

Chris easily removed his boxers and started kissing Stiles. The boy had to admit, he rather loved it when he was kissed. There was something tender and beautiful about the act. But he much preferred Derek to be the one kissing him. His heart ached at the thought. He couldn't fall for Derek. He couldn't make himself that vulnerable again. He had to be strong and he had to protect himself. He could accept Derek's help, but he could not love Derek.

Slowly he moved up so that instead of his lips against Stiles' lips, it was the head of his cock. Stiles knew what was expected. He parted his lips and let it inside, using his tongue to stimulate the large glans. Chris grunted his encouragement with moans and sighs. Slowly he pumped himself into the wet, warm mouth. Chris placed his hands on the side of Stiles' head, holding it still as he fucked the mouth with abandon.

It lasted a while before Stiles tasted the salty, heady flavor of the man's orgasm on his tongue. He pulled out of Stiles' mouth. A string of saliva connected the tip of his cock to Stiles' lip. Stiles swallowed down his seed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I'm not sure if Jordan or Isaac ever told you, but I like to dump my first load in your mouth so I can spend more time in the hole that really counts," he said.

Stiles' stomach twisted in knots hearing his body being spoken about like that. Didn't this man see that he was a person in addition to a prostitute? He sighed inwardly, adjusting himself down on the bed. Chris was already sweating a bit. Stiles focused on how amazing this man looked with his skin shining in the candle light. Keeping the focus on surface details could allow him to possibly enjoy his time. The older man's facial hair tickled a bit as the man kissed and bit along his neck. Stiles found that he loved the bites. They were pain and pleasure all rolled up in one exquisite burst of sensation. When his hips bucked up, Chris slid the boy's boxers down. Stiles eventually kicked them off. Now the two of them were naked on the bed.

Stiles preferred nudity. He especially preferred being naked in a bed. He wanted to be naked in Derek's bed, but that wasn't an option. Being naked in Chris' bed would have to suffice. And for now, it did. Chris reached into his bedside table and pulled out a bottle of lube. Stiles smiled inwardly. At least this guy was going to do the proper preparations… even if it wasn't entirely necessary. Chris squeezed some of the lube onto his fingers and reached between Stiles' legs. Stiles grunted as the fingers breeched him. Chris seemed to take pleasure in fucking Stiles with his fingers. Let it go on for a few minutes before taking his fingers out of Stiles. He coated his cock with a bit of lube and wiped his hands off on a nearby towel.

He moved between the boy's legs, slowly driving his cock inside. "Oh fuck yes," he whispered. Stiles wrapped his legs around him, ensuring he had even easier access to the hole he paid to use. "I've always wanted to fuck you, you know."

"Is it what you wanted it to be?" Stiles asked.

"Can I confess something?" Chris asked, thrusting hard and deep. Stiles grunted a bit, trying to allow himself to enjoy it.

"Sure," Stiles said. "Prostitutes are like priests and shrinks… we never reveal our clients' secrets."

Chris leaned down and kissed him. "How very blasphemous," he chuckled. "I wanted to be _your_ client. But you were always booked. I took to Jordan instead. Your hole is so much tighter than his, though."

"I wouldn't know," Stiles replied. He took the comment as the compliment he was sure Chris intended it to be. People always seemed to think that telling a prostitute how tight they are was a nice thing to do. "He only lets Peter and his clients fuck him. He wouldn't let any of us fuck him. If one of us needed to practice topping, we had to use Isaac or Danny."

"I have so many fantasies about you, Stiles," Chris confessed as he thrust away. Stiles wrapped his arms around Chris, holding him tightly. His skin was slick. He would say and do whatever it took to have a warm place to stay tonight.

Chris continued to kiss him as he thrust. "Really? Do tell…" Stiles urged, releasing some incredibly convincing fake moans.

"I want you to come when I do," Chris said, reaching down and stroking Stiles' cock. This was the first time Stiles had ever received this request and it was hard to make his body comply. Most of his clients didn't care if he came one way or the other and Derek had a habit of making him come by sheer surprise.

When Chris came a while later, Stiles came only moments after. "Fuck yeah…" Chris grunted, watching as Stiles gave over to his body's pleasure.

Stiles did get _some_ sleep. Chris tuckered himself out at around 3:00 in the morning. The bed was comfortable enough and he was so emotionally and physically tired that he honestly didn't remember falling asleep. The next thing he knew, he was being roused by Chris, who wanted to get a morning fuck in before going to work.

Still half asleep, Stiles nodded that he could do whatever he wanted and he felt Chris get into place and do his thing. When he was done, he sighed in relief. "That was fantastic… well worth the money," Chris said.

They showered separately and Stiles pulled on his clothes, folding the money up and slipping it into his pocket. This would be enough to help him get through the next week or so. Hopefully, though, he would find Derek before then. If not, he could always come back here and entertain Chris for a few extra bucks.

"Is there somewhere I can bring you?" Chris asked.

"Where's the local college or university?" Stiles asked.

"There are several, but I can bring you to the closest one. What do you need there?" Chris frowned.

"I'm looking for someone," Stiles replied vaguely.

Raising his eyebrow, Chris cocked his head to the side. "Care to be more specific? This is a pretty big city."

"You wouldn't want me revealing your identity to my other clients, now would you?" said Stiles pointedly.

"Well, you got me there," Chris muttered before ushering him out of the apartment.

* * *

Derek paced across his living room. Stiles should have called at least a week ago. Millions of things were running through his head, each more horrible than the one before it. What if Stiles had gotten in trouble? What if he had been hurt by Peter? What if Stiles had decided he didn't want anything to do with him?

"He probably lost your piece of paper," Scott suggested. "From what you tell me, he wasn't allowed a whole lot of possessions."

"That makes it worse… I'm not listed in the phone books…"

"Derek, nobody has used a phone book since the 90s," Scott scoffed, eliciting a dark glare from his friend.

"How am I supposed to find him? How is he supposed to find me?"

"As corny as it sounds, you're going to have to leave this up to fate," Scott sighed. "You just need to keep living each day and hoping for the best possible outcome for him."

"I'm scared shitless right now."

"I know… I can tell. But you're the psychologist… how much good is this fear really doing either of you?" Scott asked.

Derek released a low growl of frustration. "You don't understand!"

"You're absolutely right. I don't," Scott ceded. "But then again, I've never fallen in love with a prostitute… so there's that."

"He's more than just a prostitute. When he smiles… his whole face lights up. When you talk to him, you can tell that he feels things with everything he has. He has such an intense energy and—" Derek was interrupted.

"And he reminds you of yourself before it happened," Scott finished.

"It's not just that… When I look into his eyes, everything else fades away and my stomach ties itself in knots. And when he and I play together… God, Scott…. It's fucking magic," Derek said, lost once again in his thoughts of Stiles.

Scott leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, perching his chin contemplatively on his folded hands. "Derek, you're my friend… and I don't want you to get hurt… but could it possibly be that for him, he was just doing what he needed to provide a client with a good time and you're reading too much into it?"

He had never seen Derek look so dangerous as when he said those words. "What are you trying to say?" Derek demanded through gritted teeth.

"I'm just saying," Scott said, moving to his feet and heading toward the door. "You're one of hundreds of men he's had sex with for money. He could just be a good con artist preying on your emotions because you're a successful self-made man."

"Get out," Derek ordered.

"I'm already going," Scott replied. "But please, Derek, don't push out your old friends to make room for this boy."

* * *

As he trudged onto the campus grounds, having given the last of his money to the cab driver, he seriously hoped that this was the right place. He had been to nearly every college or university in the city. None of them had a Derek Hale as a teacher. Stiles began his tiresome process of asking every person he could find.

Most of the students and faculty seemed like they couldn't be bothered or that his presence was inherently offensive. It was true that he smelled awful. He had to take whores baths in the McDonald's bathroom while crying at the terrible irony.

"Please help me… I'm looking for Derek Hale!" Stiles shouted into the crowds.

"Dr. Hale? The psych professor?" someone replied.

"Yes!" Stiles said, unsure who had responded.

"I have his class in an hour," the woman replied.

"Is he here yet?" asked Stiles.

"I think he has his office hours right now," she offered. "I can show you where his office is."

"That'd be great," Stiles exclaimed.

He followed her through the maze of buildings through the gorgeous campus. "I'm Lydia, by the way," she said, reaching out her hand to shake it.

"Stiles," he replied, accepting her outstretched hand hesitantly.

Lydia studied him. Her gaze was not at all judgmental, but rather quizzical. "What I'm about to say… I don't at all mean any offense… I live in the co-ed dorms on campus. If we'd like, you could swing by there and I can let you take a hot shower and see if we can't find some warmer clothes for you… my roommate's a guy and he is about your size. I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"No," Stiles declined politely. "I could never intrude like that."

"It's not an intrusion at all," Lydia insisted. "Besides, Dr. Hale is kinda famous. You'll want to be looking your best when you meet him."

Stiles didn't feel like explaining that they had already met and, in fact, were quite knowledgeable of one another from a physical stand-point. He simply decided to take the help being offered. "Sure…" he sighed.

They veered off to the right down a path that led to the dorms. Lydia swiped her key card which granted entry into the building then led him up the stairwell, leading him to the dorm room. The dorm room had its own bathroom and Lydia got the water warming up. She pulled out a clean towel from a stack in her mini-closet. "Here you go… help yourself to any of the soap or shampoo in there. When you're done, I'll have some clothes picked out for you," Lydia said.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

The shower was indescribable. Even the few minutes he had beneath the steamy spray of water was enough to make him feel rested and rejuvenated, driving the cold and ache from his joints. The shampoo and shower gels both smelled fruity and floral, but Stiles didn't care. It beat the smell of body odor.

When he was clean, he shut off the water, mourning, for a moment, the way the steam had enveloped him, then wiped the water from his hair and skin with the towel before wrapping it around his waist. He timidly opened the door, peeking his head out. "Lydia?"

Nearly instantly, the red-haired girl appeared with a pile of folded up clothes stacked in her arms. Just behind her was a boy. He had short, dark hair and a slim, strong build. He was wearing a lacrosse jersey. Stiles felt his eyes lingering on Stiles as he approached. "Who are you?" Stiles asked cautiously. He didn't like it when men had that look in his eyes. In his experience, it never preceded anything good for him.

The guy held out a hand, "I'm Brett."

"This is Brett Talbot. He's my roommate," Lydia explained.

"You said he was cute, but I think you might be guilty of underselling," Brett whispered to Lydia, though it was just loud enough for Stiles to hear it. Stiles instantly began turning red.

Lydia quickly cuffed Brett, her blow landing squarely in his stomach, causing him to laugh as a loud " _Oof!_ " escaped his lips. "These clothes belong to Brett, but he's willing to let you have them. No charge or anything."

Stiles could tell even without inspecting them that the clothes he was being offered were designer and really expensive. He wondered if Brett would be chocking this up to a charity donation when he filed his taxes next year. "Thank you, Brett… but I will find a way to pay you back… Derek might even be able to do so as soon as I talk to him…"

"You mean Derek Hale? As in Dr. Derek Hale?" Brett clarified. "How do you know him?"

"It's complicated."

Brett squinted, studying Stiles' features more closely. "Are you like his son or something? You know what… that makes sense… you two kind of have the same-shaped eyes. I should have known he had a son somewhere… he's too fucking sexy to play just for one team."

"It's nothing like that," Stiles said quickly, accepting the offering of clothes and retreating back into the bathroom to pull them on. The expensive fabric felt amazing against his skin. Stiles knew that he'd be quite a bit warmer in these clothes, even if he _didn't_ find Derek today. When he finally emerged, Brett was standing near his own closet, shirtless and laughing as he talked to Lydia.

"Brett, he's a freshman," she scolded.

"After tonight, he won't be all that fresh, now will he?" he joked.

"You're the team captain. Surely there's got to be _some_ rule about not fucking every new recruit," Lydia scoffed.

Brett pulled on his shirt before dancing to unheard music over to Lydia's side of the room, kissing her playfully on the cheek. "Quite the opposite, my dear. I find that having sex with all the new recruits builds a sense of camaraderie among them. And it's a good way to tell if they'll make it."

"How is that?" Stiles asked.

Brett flashed a devilish smile. "Because if they can handle what I'm serving up in the sheets, they'll be able to take anything our pansy-ass opponents can dish on the field." It was clear to Stiles that Brett only noticed he had rejoined them when he interjected himself into the conversation. He let out a wolf whistle. "Those look quite nice on you. However, if you ever want to return them, I'd be happy to take them off of you myself." Brett licked his lips for emphasis.

Again, Lydia struck him. This time it was a well-aimed powerful punch to the shoulder. From Brett's reaction, Stiles could tell that it actually _had_ hurt. "Excuse him," Lydia said, glaring in Brett's direction. "He seems to have forgotten his manners."

"It's alright," Stiles said politely. He didn't want to risk offending the man lest he find himself once again in the ratty clothes he was wearing before.

"No its' not," Lydia said. "He should know better. But anyways… are you ready to go see Dr. Hale?"

"Yes, thank you," Stiles said quietly. The three of them marched out of the building back into the main campus and through an altogether different maze of buildings, hallways, and stairwells before arriving in front of a shut office door labeled "Dr. Derek S. Hale." Beneath the name read "Professor of Psychology and Human Sexuality."

Lydia knocked on the door with her knuckles. "Come in," came the voice from inside. It was unmistakably Derek's voice. Lydia slowly opened the door. "Hi, Lydia!" Derek said cheerfully. "What brings you here?"

"There's someone I met on campus who was wanting to see you," she said, pulling Stiles into view.

Immediately Derek lit up, though worked to contain his excitement. "Thank you so much for showing him to my office. I'll see you in a few minutes."

"It was nice meeting you, Stiles," she said brightly. "Hope to see you again soon!"

"Thanks," Stiles said again. "And thank you so much for the clothes."

"Ah, it was nothing," Brett said before following Lydia down the hall, recounting to her the many virtues of fucking one's teammates and how college was supposed to be an experimental time where people tried new things, like sushi, yoga, and cocksucking.

Before Stiles could even register what was happening, Derek had pulled him into the office, shut and locked the door and was holding him against the wall, kissing him with desperate longing. The kiss took the wind from Stiles' lungs, but it felt good to be in Derek's arms. It felt good to have Derek's lips pressed against his. When the kisses finally ended, Derek just held him and breathed in his scent.

"I was so worried about you, Stiles," he said after a long silence. "I missed you… I thought maybe Peter had done something to you."

"I'm sorry," Stiles said numbly. "I lost the paper you gave me with your information. When I went in to get my stuff, Peter made me take care of these clients who hurt me bad. I complained to Peter that I didn't want to see that client ever again and he went apeshit. He started throwing things and for a moment, I thought he was going to rape me. But I told him I was leaving and I packed my stuff and left. It took me a week to find you."

"Where did you stay?" Derek asked.

"The first night, I stayed with one of the regulars from the club. He paid me $400 and I had a warm bed to sleep in… I used that money to hold me over until I found you today…" Stiles explained. He felt ashamed of admitting it to Derek—admitting he sold his body for a few hundred bucks and a place to sleep.

"At least you're safe now," Derek sighed, hugging him tightly.

"When I got to the campus, I met Lydia. She let me shower in her dorm and that guy Brett lent me some clothes," he said, now finally relaxing into Derek's embrace.

"Come sit in my class. When it's done, I'll bring you home," Derek murmured.

Stiles nodded, his head moving against Derek's strong chest.

Derek stole one last kiss before leading Stiles to the classroom. Stiles chose an empty seat in the back and Derek took his place in the front of the classroom.

In his elegant hand, Derek printed the large words on the dry-erase board: "Shame and Sex." He then turned to the class. "Why is there so much shame involved when discussing sex and sexuality? Why do we place so much on this simple biological function?"

He let the question hang in the air. Nobody ventured a guess.

"It's a complicated question," Derek continued. "But the answer is simple." Beneath the words "Shame and Sex" he added two more words: "Societal Conditioning." He then turned back to address the class once more. "How is it that nearly every culture around the world places stigma on sex?"

Several students called out answers rapid fire and Stiles found it hard to concentrate on them. "Religion is a factor, but the answer I'm looking for is a bit different," Derek replied.

A girl with long red hair raised her hand. She was seated toward the front. As soon as she spoke, Stiles recognized her voice. "The shame isn't equally shared," Lydia said. "Women and non-heterosexuals are taught to feel shame regarding sex."

Derek lit up. "Exactly! So why is it that a heterosexual woman is taught to feel shame about her sexuality but a heterosexual man is not?"

A guy at the far side of the room spoke up. At first glance, Stiles thought he looked like a douchebag. Then he opened his mouth and confirmed as much. "Well, a lock that can be opened by a bunch of keys is basically worthless so…"

Stiles tensed. To his credit, Derek hid well how disgusted he was by his student's comment. Sniggers broke out across the room from mainly the male classmates. "Alright, so if we're going throw completely asinine metaphors into the mix, take this one: a pencil sharpener that has sharpened many pencils is considered a good thing. The sharpener itself is not in any way harmed by the act of sharpening pencils and with every pencil it sharpens, its value increases as a trusty, reliable pencil sharpener. On the converse, a pencil that has been sharpened too many times becomes of less and less value until it is eventually so worthless that it gets thrown away without so much as a second thought."

Lydia clapped. Stiles heard a lot of laughter and even an "Oh shit!" from Brett at the way Derek shut down his student's misogyny.

"You're just taking the side of women and fags so you can make men feel bad about being men," the student countered.

"First of all, you will refrain from using such derogatory language in my class or I will have you kicked out of my class with a failing grade and ensure that you can't get the failing grade erased through any sort of grade forgiveness program. Don't think I will, test me and find out," Derek snapped. The silence in the classroom was deafening. "Second of all, the purpose of this lesson is not to instill gender-based guilt. It's to highlight exactly the behaviors that you are exhibiting and put them on display as not only problematic but deeply damaging to the social fabric. The misogyny and homophobia you've displayed in the first few minutes of my lesson today is far more detrimental to our country than gender and LGBT equality could ever be. So if you want to continue espousing such ignorance, I suggest you immediately drop any and all study of human sexuality and change your major to astrophysics and work on inventing a time machine that can bring you back to the Neanderthal ages where you would most likely feel more at home."

Nobody clapped or cheered. Even Stiles sat slack-jawed at Derek's response. He had never seen Derek so worked up over anything before.

Returning to his lecture, Derek addressed the class again. "So why is it that we resort to drawing comparisons to women and non-heterosexual men in regards to objects? Why is their free expression of sexuality forbidden but a heterosexual man's is not?"

Nobody answered for a moment so Lydia's hand shot into the air. "Because heterosexual men set the norms for society."

"Exactly! Someone did the readings…" Derek said, smiling.

Stiles attention waned through the rest of the lecture until all at once, people stood up and began gathering their belongings and filing out the door. When the last of the stragglers were gone, Stiles moved up to the front of the class and Derek smiled. "Are you ready to go home?"

"Yeah," Stiles replied. He was exhausted. He wanted to sleep. The ride back was quiet, but Stiles found it strange that the entire time, Derek's fingers remained interlaced with his own.

Their hands separated only once they arrived at the sprawling mansion. When they were inside, Derek could no longer restrain himself, He pushed Stiles up against the wall frantically kissing his neck, jaw, and face. The stubble on his cheek tickled Stiles.

"You're acting like I'm a boyfriend you haven't seen in months," Stiles said, finally wresting himself from Derek's grasp.

"I just missed you a lot," Derek replied. "I was afraid I'd never see you again."

"What if you hadn't?" Stiles asked.

Derek gazed into the younger man's eyes. Those eyes that he could swim laps in… those eyes that he never thought he would be able to gaze into again. "You're tired, you should get some rest," Derek said quickly, avoiding the question altogether.

Stiles knew Derek was evading but didn't know why, however he couldn't argue with the fact that he _was_ exhausted. "Will you lie down with me?"

"Of course," Derek replied, stripping off his expensive clothes, allowing them to act as a breadcrumb trail from the foyer to the bedroom along with Stiles' borrowed clothing. Derek climbed into the bed with Stiles, relishing the feel of their skin touching. He wanted to kiss every part of the boy, but resisted so that the object of his desire could get some much-needed sleep.

"Please stay by my side," Stiles begged.

"I'd never dream of leaving," Derek whispered softly, his arms wrapped tightly and protectively around Stiles.

Letting out a long yawn, he stretched a bit before snuggling close to Derek. He wasn't sure why, but he felt completely safe in the arms that held him, with his face nestled against Derek's slightly hairy chest. "Why are you so protective of me?" he asked groggily.

"Because," Derek replied simply. He let that one word hang out there until he was certain Stiles was asleep. It was only once he heard soft snores issuing from Stiles that he finished the thought aloud, finally putting words to the feelings he'd been grappling with nearly since he'd first laid eyes on the boy. "Because I think I might be falling in love with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: And with that, I wish you a very happy Valentine's Day. Please show me some love by commenting with how you enjoyed the chapter. I really do read each and every comment and it helps me find inspiration when I'm writing.


	7. Fights and Battles Have Begun

They collapsed onto the bed, both thoroughly exhausted from the client they had just been entertaining. "Do you think he's alright?" Danny asked.

"Stiles?" Jackson replied. "Probably. He's probably bouncing up and down on that hot guy's cock as we speak, living the dream life in some big mansion."

"What if he actually found freedom from all of this? You and I could leave, too. We could never have to fuck someone we don't want to ever again," Danny said. "You and I could just be us… for the rest of our lives."

"And do what, Danny?" Jackson sighed, pulling his boyfriend tightly to him. "We have no skills. We don't really even have any money. Peter keeps it all. We have nothing except each other. That's all we need. That's all I need."

Danny kissed Jackson. He thought the sentiment was sweet, even if it was unrealistic. "I know where Peter keeps the money."

Jackson froze. "Do you really?"

Nodding, Danny smiled broadly. "We could take some money and get the hell out of here. We need to bring Isaac with us, though."

"Every man for himself," Jackson grumbled. "Stiles abandoned us, why should we give a fuck about anyone else?"

"I couldn't leave him here. For all we know Stiles might come back for us… but I can't leave Isaac here. Do you see the way Peter and Jordan use him?" Danny said.

"The exact same way they use us," Jackson replied. "At least how they _used_ to."

Danny didn't reply. Instead he just pressed firmly against Jackson. "We need to come up with a plan," he said after a while.

"I'm tired. Can we do it tomorrow?" Jackson asked.

"Yeah."

* * *

Stiles woke up in the exact position he fell asleep in. As he slowly blinked the sleep from his eyes, he looked up to find Derek's big, green eyes staring back at him. "How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough for my arm to go numb, get the pins and needles, regain full feeling, and then have all of that repeat at least four times," Derek replied.

"Oh!" Stiles said quickly. "I'm so sorry!"

"Don't be," Derek said. "I could have moved my arm at any time."

"Then why didn't you?" Stiles asked, clearly confused.

"Because you looked so peaceful. I didn't want to risk you waking up," Derek admitted, blushing slightly.

"That's kind of sweet, I guess," Stiles replied as Derek leaned forward to kiss his forehead.

"We should probably get up, though," Derek sighed. "You can shower first. I'll make breakfast, then we'll head out to the store to get you some clothes and stuff."

"Please don't spend a lot of money or time on me," Stiles begged. "I already can't pay you back for what you've done."

"I've told you before, I don't expect any payment for the help I give you. I know it might be hard to believe given what you've been through, but I'll work hard to earn your trust and I swear, Stiles, I'll never break it," Derek said.

"You don't have to prove anything to me, Derek," Stiles sighed, sitting up in the bed.

"But I do," Derek insisted. "Because I don't want, even accidentally, to do anything that might be taking advantage of you and the situation."

"Does this mean I'm not getting laid for a while?" Stiles asked, picking up on the hidden meaning.

"What makes you ask that?" Derek's eyes narrowed.

Stiles shrugged and got up from the bed. "I actually like sex with you…. I don't want to be cut off because of your attempts at a being noble. You can be noble and still have sex."

Derek sighed, laughing inwardly. "Just go take your shower."

He refused to be like his uncle and take advantage of a boy who was down on his luck with no one and nowhere to turn to. As much as he wanted to lay Stiles across the bed and thrust into him until oblivion, he had to exercise self-control. Instead, he went into the kitchen and began cooking a simple breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast.

Stiles joined him after a few minutes, still a bit wet, but as naked as the day he was born. "Stiles, please put on some clothes."

"Why?" Stiles demanded, sounding like a petulant child.

"Because the nature of our relationship has fundamentally changed," Derek replied with a strained voice.

"You're tenting your sweatpants, Derek. I can tell that you want me," Stiles teased. "I want you, too. What's the big deal?"

"Because if we don't have sex at all, then there's no way you can possibly think that you are somehow paying me back for the help I'm giving you," Derek replied. "No more sex between us."

"So you're just going to jerk off from now on?" Stiles asked skeptically.

"If I have to," Derek replied, setting a plate down in front of him.

"But why would you do that when I'm here and actually _want_ to help you with that?" By this point, Stiles was growing exasperated. "I want you to still be my Dom. You said nothing had to change unless I wanted it to! I don't want things to change between us. If I thought it would, I wouldn't be here right now. I'd still be there."

"Stiles please don't say things like that. Just give me some time," Derek said. "We need to get you some clothes and if I remembered correctly, you promised to enroll in GED classes."

Stiles sighed, looking down at the counter and drawing various shapes with his index finger. "What if it turns out that I suck at GED classes and would rather spend my time sucking at something else…"

Despite his attempt to suppress it, Derek released a hearty laugh. "Then good grades and scores will be the requirement for you to be able to suck anything."

"Well you certainly know how to play ball," Stiles griped.

* * *

Sweat dripped down from Peter's face and chest. It rained down onto Isaac who was terrified, scratching at the sheets beneath him as Peter pounded into him. He had no idea how long this had been happening. Peter had been using him as his personal toy since Stiles left. This was occasionally punctuated by diatribes on how Stiles had abandoned them and he deserved whatever he got from here. This sentiment was wholly mirrored by Jordan, but the two of them differed slightly. Whereas Peter seemed more hurt by Stiles' actions, Jordan was filled with rage.

"Peter gave us everything!" he had said. "And Stiles threw it all away like it was nothing. How fucking dare he?" He had also promised to make Stiles pay for his betrayal if given the chance.

Isaac, however, was excited for Stiles. A whole world of opportunity had opened up for his friend. If truth be told, he was jealous. He wanted that same chance at happiness that Stiles had gotten, yet he didn't dare allow himself to dream it was possible for him to achieve. Dreams of that nature only made reality that much harder to cope with. No. Stiles got out and Isaac loved him enough to be happy for him, even if it was gut-wrenchingly agonizing to do so.

"I asked you a question!" Peter shouted after pulling out. Isaac had been so consumed in his own thoughts that he hadn't even felt Peter finish.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I was lost in my own world," Isaac admitted sheepishly.

"When I'm fucking you, I expect your full attention to be on me and my needs. If you're not giving your 100% with me, how can I be sure you're giving your 100% to your clients?" Peter demanded admonishingly.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said. "It won't happen again."

"If it does, I will make you seriously regret it," Peter promised as he flopped onto his back, his skin still shining with the sweat from his exertion. "Now as I was saying, I need someone to fill in for the BDSM clientele while I work on procuring another boy to replace Stiles. Would you mind picking up some of the slack?"

"Of course, sir," Isaac replied. "Whatever it is you want me to do." It was a reply he had practiced and recited hundreds of times in his career as a prostitute. He did well to hide the dread he now felt. He didn't want to be tied up and beaten. He had helped Stiles tend to some of the wounds from men who had been too rough with him. He could barely stomach it being done to someone else. How could he endure it being inflicted upon himself? Yet there was one rule when working at the Wolf Den that surmounted everything else: Whores always say yes.

* * *

They had been out shopping for hours. With every swipe of the credit card, the pit in Stiles' stomach grew and grew. This was a huge debt he would need to pay back and despite Derek's many assurances to the contrary, he was afraid that eventually they would all fade to be simply words.

However, when he weighed the balance of being Derek's personal sex toy and being Peter's, the decision he had made still came out in his favor. He was trying to make himself trust Derek, but he had been let down too severely in the past to not at least be cautious. And since the only weapon he had was his sexuality, he decided he'd make sure to put it to use if necessary.

Derek sat in the chair, twirling his finger, indicating for Stiles to spin and show off the newest outfit that had been curated for him by Derek's team of stylists. He'd never looked so good. Yet Stiles noticed that as Derek watched him, his eyes weren't on the clothes, but on his face. "Do you like it?" Stiles asked.

"You look amazing," Derek replied. "You look amazing in everything."

"You're just saying that," Stiles said sheepishly before returning to the fitting room to try on a few more outfits. Derek paid for all of these as well, even making it a point not to allow Stiles to see the final total.

As they were heading out of the store, Derek put his arm protectively around Stiles. "So now that you have a decent wardrobe, let's get you enrolled in classes tomorrow."

"Derek, thank you for paying for all of these clothes. I promise I'll pay you back," Stiles vowed.

Derek smiled at the gesture but waved it away with a motion of his hand. "Just get your GED and start studying so you can join the FBI academy. We'll call it even."

"No," he insisted. "I'm going to pay you back. I promise."

"If you're focused on paying me back, you won't be focused on school work," Derek said. "I'm serious… just don't worry about it, Stiles."

Sighing, Stiles looked out at the oncoming traffic, fighting the sudden urge to jump into it. "I can't owe you that much, Derek. Can you please appreciate how difficult the situation is from my point of view? A rich, sexy man taking me in and just giving me a place to sleep and free stuff led to me being beaten and fucked by strangers."

Derek seemed to sink at that. "I know, Stiles… and I'm going to do everything I can to prove to you that I genuinely want to help you."

"Why are you so invested in my well-being?" Stiles asked curiously.

"Because…" Derek trailed off. "Because there's something about you."

"That's vague."

"There's something about you that has captivated me so completely and I care a great deal about you," Derek finally admitted. At this revelation, Stiles stopped moving and Derek took a few steps before realizing it. He turned back. "Stiles? Are you alright?"

"Since my parents died, nobody has ever said they care about me besides Peter and we both know he didn't," Stiles said.

"I feel bad that my uncle hurt you," Derek said. "I feel bad that _I_ hurt you."

"The difference is I _wanted_ you to hurt me," Stiles interjected. "When you hurt me… it felt good."

"Just promise me that when it no longer feels good… or when you're scared, that you'll tell me. I couldn't forgive myself if I did to you what Peter did," Derek told him.

* * *

A week had passed and Stiles was registered for his GED classes, had a complete wardrobe, and despite having not once used it, was fully moved into his bedroom on the opposite end of the expansive, sprawling mansion.

Around the house, he wore his collar and a jockstrap. It was comfortable. They had developed more rules than they ever had in the past. Derek took great detail in explaining the intricacies of a 24/7 Dom/sub relationship. Stiles was in a near constant state of arousal.

He was "punished" for minor infractions and fucked more intensely than he had ever been fucked before in his life. He had also never been so happy before in his life.

As his days went on, he studied for his GED, then when Derek got home, he would spend an hour or two "training" Stiles in some aspect of being a sub. Usually, they would eat a delicious dinner prepared by Derek and then afterwards, Stiles would spend the rest of the night either sucking on or riding Derek's cock.

It was about three weeks in when Derek had Stiles suspended from the dungeon ceiling by an intricately-woven network of rope that formed a lattice-like design across his body, suspending his weight in a manner that was definitely intended to be uncomfortable. His hands were tied behind his back to ropes that immobilized his legs. All of this was connected to a pulley system that allowed Derek to, at will, change not only how high above the ground he was suspended, but at what angle. The strain on his muscles caused a terrible ache. Occasionally Derek would lower him so that he could easily fuck the sub.

The point of this exercise was to keep Stiles at the edge of orgasm for as long as possible. Since, in the past, Stiles had been able to come just from Derek fucking him, Derek was making sure that he fucked his sub in a manner that would not permit him the release he craved. When Derek was not availing himself of one of Stiles' holes, he was using a variety of toys to stimulate Stiles right up to the brink of orgasm. Every fiber of the sub's being yearned to come, but Derek was far too masterful in his control over Stiles. Tears of frustration spilled out of his eyes and down his cheeks as he futilely thrashed when Derek once again denied him the simple ecstasy of release.

"Please, Master Derek," Stiles begged, using his most respectful appellation. Since Stiles was now living with him, Derek would only allow him to use that name if they were doing a scene together, like this one. "Please, sir… I feel like I'm going to explode. You've come several times. Will you please let me just this once?"

Derek looked down at him. His green eyes shone brightly in the light of the room. His hands slid up along Stiles' body. Every motion was intended to drive Stiles wild. It worked. His lips and tongue teased playfully at the metal bars that pierced through Stiles' extremely sensitive nipples. He then pressed the button on the wall that tilted Stiles upward so that their faces were level with one another and locked lips with the sub. Their tongues danced their lustful ballet. The room smelled so heavily of sweat and sex that Stiles could no longer smell the leather that covered most of Derek's skin. It saddened him because he had come to love the smell of Derek's leather. He loved polishing the leather. Sometimes, Derek had him polish it with his tongue. He liked that the most.

"You've never before interrupted me while I was preparing your dinner… why now?" Derek said breathlessly after the kiss.

"I'm just really hungry, sir," he replied, playing along with Derek's game in hopes of achieving the result he wanted. "And you put all of yours into the other end of me."

Derek kissed Stiles again before smirking. "That was just selfish of me, wasn't it?"

"A bit, sir," Stiles answered meekly, his hips moving nearly involuntarily as some of Derek's semen leaked out of him.

Derek smiled and kissed him again, letting his kisses trail all the way down to Stiles' hard cock. Slowly working it, he could feel it pulsing longingly in his fist. Derek slowly lowered his mouth down to the tip, allowing his tongue to dance around it while working the shaft up and down with his deft fingers.

Stiles' hands fisted and his toes curled as he felt himself build up to yet another orgasm he feared he would be denied. Every part of his body shook with pent-up frustration. What Derek was doing to him would have felt amazing at any time. But now, with every nerve ending in his body on high alert, every moment was a burst of pleasure that was so intense that it bordered on agony. Derek was so adept at eliciting one and simultaneously causing the other, blending the two until it was impossible to tell where pain began and bliss ended. And then it hit him with the force of a bullet train. The way it zipped up and down his body, Stiles imagined that this burst of energy emanating from him rivaled the first few seconds of creation. He could feel the orgasm throughout his entire body. The aftershocks sent tremors through his body like seismic waves. It was violent and beautiful at the same time like a volcano exploding.

When everything finally died down, he felt weak and completely spent. The floor was covered with Stiles' come as Derek's was slowly leaking out of Stiles' backside. Slowly, Derek wiped the drops of come that had splashed onto him, feeding it to Stiles. After, began the arduous task of untying him. When Stiles was finally free, he collapsed onto the ground, too weak to support his own weight. "How do you feel?" he asked in a voice softer than Stiles thought possible.

"Exhausted," Stiles replied honestly. Derek sank gracefully to the floor and pulled Stiles' naked body into his lap, stroking his back, chest, and cock. Stiles buried his face against Derek's chest, breathing in his sweaty scent as he savored the sensation of Derek's rough hands roaming his body.

"How do you feel about our arrangement?" he asked.

"I like it," Stiles said. "I like you."

"I like you, too," Derek replied softly, kissing Stiles gently. "I like you a lot, actually."

"I…" Stiles began but then trailed off.

"What is it?" Derek asked encouragingly. "You can tell me anything, you know."

"It's too embarrassing," he replied shaking his head in an attempt to remove the thought entirely.

"Stiles, remember what I said about us being able to communicate honestly? I will never judge you for what you have to say or how you think and feel," Derek said. "Please… if there's something on your mind, I want to know."

"I just…" Stiles said, his face reddening both from the thing he was about to say and from the fact that he felt Derek had admonished him for not being as forthcoming. "I'm confused by how I feel about you."

Derek was taken aback. His choice of wording bothered the Dom. "Why do you mean?"

"I always knew what I felt for Peter and the other boys. I was afraid of Peter, but I liked the other guys, for the most part. I was able to put words to my emotions with them. There were times when Peter was treating me nicely that I sometimes thought that maybe I loved him, but then I would think about the things he made me do and it would fade," Stiles said.

"It's called Stockholm Syndrome," Derek interjected.

Stiles nodded and continued. "But I don't have a way to describe how I feel about you. I'm grateful for everything you've done for me. I'm still scared that all of this will somehow fade away, though," Stiles said, struggling to fight back the tears threatening to spill over.

Wrapping his arms tightly around the boy, Derek pulled him close. "I won't ever do anything that you're not okay with."

"I believe that," Stiles replied. "But I'm still afraid."

"Fear is a natural reaction. Hopefully it will fade as more trust develops between us," Derek said. "Is there anything that I can do to help build that trust?"

"Can we just have regular sex sometimes?" Stiles asked. "Whenever we do it, it's always with me as your sub and you as my Dom. Sometimes I just want to have sex. Sometimes I just want you to kiss me and stuff while you're fucking me."

"Sure," Derek replied. "We can have vanilla sex if you want."

"Can we have vanilla sex now?" Stiles asked.

"Sure," Derek replied. They stood up and Derek led Stiles out of the dungeon and into the bedroom. Slowly, he removed his leather and all pretenses of his Dominant persona. He gently laid Stiles back onto the silky sheets and went to unfasten his collar, but Stiles' hands flew up to stop him.

"Leave that on… I know how much you like that," Stiles replied.

Derek's lips crashed against Stiles and once again, he was instantly hard. He quickly pushed into the boy, who was already slick from their previous exploits. Stiles grunted. Derek was always surprised that no matter how much they fucked, Stiles always gripped him tightly like he never wanted Derek to pull out of him. There had been more than one occasion when Derek had thought that their bodies were designed to fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. He watched Stiles closely as he thrust in and out. He could always tell when it felt good because Stiles would bite his bottom lip and squeeze his eyes shut.

There were many things about Stiles that he knew or had picked up on, yet he didn't remember exactly when he had begun noticing these things. He guessed these were the sorts of things you noticed about a person you had fallen in love with. Things like the way he would tap his pen against his jaw when he was trying to figure out a math problem, or how he would chew the inside of his cheek when he was thinking hard about something—which was quite often.

Derek also noticed the way Stiles looked at him. Those brown eyes full of admiration, excitement, and fear. That glimmer of fear in his gaze never ceased to cut Derek to the quick. Derek more than understood why it was there, but it didn't make it hurt any less. He hoped one day he would look into those beautiful eyes and no longer see fear, but rather peace and contentment. It would be a long, hard road to get to that point, Derek knew, but he was willing to travel it. There was something about Stiles that made him willing to go to Hell and back if it meant bringing a smile to that boy's face.

Stiles' hand traveled down to his cock and slowly he began stroking himself, keeping the same rhythm Derek had begun. "I'm almost there," he whimpered.

Derek kissed him again, this time more urgently. It was hard for him to finish without the domination factor playing a part so in his mind's eye, he focused on the collar. That gave him just the push he needed to find his own release. Loud moans and shudders beneath him told him that Stiles, too, had come. Derek was surprised that he was able to so quickly.

"Don't pull out yet," he whispered and so Derek didn't. Instead, they kissed each other, allowing their hands to explore already familiar territory.

* * *

They both now knew what they were, despite the fact that neither was willing to say it out loud. They were boyfriends. The thought both excited and terrified Stiles. He was still waiting for the rug to be pulled out from beneath him and for Derek to prove himself as anything other than a gentleman.

Derek helped him study for upcoming tests. Stiles let Derek practice upcoming lectures on him. They went on dates. This was what Stiles imagined being in a couple would be like. There was just one thing Stiles would change about the entire situation. So in keeping up with the new-found independence he was experiencing, he decided to do something about it.

He filled out several applications at local restaurants and cafes. Six of them called him back and two of those offered him jobs. He decided to accept the job at the café, since after all, it came with the perk of free coffee. He wasn't entirely sure how Derek was going to react to the news, but it didn't stop him from being excited about it nonetheless.

"I have something I want to tell you," Stiles told him over dinner that night. "But I'm afraid of how you'll react."

This, of course, got Derek's full attention. He hated that Stiles would fear anything about him. He longed for them to have a completely open dialogue free from judgment. "Stiles, you can tell me anything."

Stiles took a long sip of water and set the glass down. "I got a job at a local café. And before you get mad, I want you to know that I specifically worked the schedule so that I'd still have plenty of time for my classes and studying… and of course, time for you."

Derek cocked his head to the side, eyebrows furrowed. "Why did you think I'd be mad at that? I think that's great news!" he lifted his own wineglass up, signaling he wanted to toast Stiles. "Congratulations! I actually think this will be good for you."

"I'm grateful for everything you've done for me, but I thought it would be nice to have some money of my own so that I could take you out on a date every once in a while. It'll also help me get legitimate work on my resume," Stiles explained.

"It sounds like you've thought everything through. Is there anything I can do to help as far as transportation goes?" Derek asked. Stiles usually rode to his classes with Derek, since they were taught on the same campus. When he wasn't in class, he was usually in Derek's office studying… or bent over the desk.

Stiles lit up at hearing Derek's approval. "I was wondering if you could front me the money for a bike? I'll pay you back once I've got my first paycheck."

"For the millionth time, you don't have to pay me back. Consider it a congratulatory present. We can go to the store tomorrow after my radio show," Derek said.

Stiles' heart was beating rapidly. He couldn't believe it. Derek was encouraging him to be his own person and do his own things. This was so far from what Peter had done that it struck Stiles emotionally and his joyful smiles turned into tears. Derek watched Stiles with concerned eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly. Stiles dabbed his napkin at his eyes and turned away bashfully, shaking his head as if to get rid of the question posed. Derek set his fork down and moved to kneel directly in front of the boy. "Did something I said upset you?"

"I'm just not used to someone being so supportive of me and my decisions," Stiles replied. "Daddy—I mean… Peter—would punish us if we came to him with ideas like this. If we asked for time off, he'd punish us even worse."

"How would he punish you?" Derek asked.

Stiles took a deep breath in an attempt to steady his voice which was sounding squeezed through the lump in his throat. "Sometimes he would beat us, sometimes he would have us gang-raped by a bunch of guys… sometimes both." Stiles began to cry a bit harder as he remembered what it was like. "He would send out an email to a bunch of clients and turn the boy over to them. He did it to me twice. The first time it happened, I had to be taken to the hospital afterwards. At the time, I didn't know it was rape."

"I'm so sorry, Stiles," Derek whispered, taking the boy's hands in his. "What was the offense that made him feel as though you deserved an awful punishment like this?"

"I asked to use some of the money I'd earned to buy some stuff," Stiles replied.

"He never gave you the money you earned?" Derek asked. Stiles shook his head and Derek pursed his lips. This changed Derek's understanding of Stiles' previous environment. This revelation made it clear that Stiles had been less a prostitute than a sex slave. His heart broke for the boy. He reached up and wrapped his arms tightly around him. Stiles simply cried into Derek's shoulder. After a while, he broke the silence between them. "I want you to start going to counseling, Stiles."

"I'm not crazy," Stiles replied defensively.

"Going to counseling doesn't mean you're crazy. It can help people process the things that might be more difficult to move past. In light of what you just told me, I think you really would benefit from it," Derek insisted.

"But I don't want to talk to a stranger about this stuff. Why can't I just talk to you about it?"

"As I've told you many, many times before, you can talk to me about anything, Stiles… but I can't do therapy with you. You're my... well, our relationship being what it is means that it would be incredibly inappropriate and even abusive for me to take part in that process," he explained.

"But nobody understands me like you do," Stiles sighed.

"I'm honored that you feel this way, but I can't be your therapist," Derek insisted.

* * *

Peeking through the slightly ajar door, Danny could see that Jordan was dutifully occupying himself by bouncing up and down on Peter. Isaac tied up in a way that made him available for use by both of them. It was apparent they had both been availing themselves of the poor boy. Danny turned back to Jackson, certain he hadn't been seen as he peeked into the room.

"He's busy," Danny whispered. "They've tied him to the bed."

"We aren't going to get another chance," Jackson hissed. "When Peter discovers the money is gone, he's going to kill us. We can't bring Isaac along. I'm sorry."

Danny pursed his lips. He knew Jackson was right. That didn't make the decision any easier. "Fine." Silently, they padded back down the hall. Neither of them could ever remember a time when their hearts had pounded so hard. Danny had managed to take several thousand dollars out of the safe in Peter's floor.

The two of them rushed down the fire escape until, at long last, they were safely on the ground and free. They didn't waste time to celebrate, though. They started putting as much distance between themselves and the Wolf Den as humanly possible. Danny felt a twinge of guilt at the fact that Isaac was still stuck in that situation, but he hoped that once they got on their feet, they could connect with Stiles and come up with a way to liberate their brother. Danny knew Jordan was too loyal to Peter and therefore was a lost cause. He had changed so much Danny remembered the old Jordan, before he became a virtual clone of Peter.

For now, though, they were free.

* * *

"How is it working out with you and the boy toy?" Scott asked.

"He's not a boy toy," Derek said through gritted teeth.

Scott sighed. "Then what is he to you?"

"Well," Derek said after pausing for a moment. "I think we're boyfriends…"

"You know my concern comes from the fact that we're best friends, right?" Scott said.

Derek nodded. "If you met him, though, you'd see that we're perfect for each other."

"Then maybe we _should_ meet," Scott suggested. "If he's this important to you."

"I'm just hoping the therapy works. There's so much that he needs to work through. I mean, you know how long it took me to get to a good place…" Derek admitted.

"My professional opinion, though, Derek," Scott interjected. "You're playing with fire."

"I know," Derek confessed. "But I can't leave him. I love him."

* * *

"Alright Stiles, you're good to go," the manager said. "Great work today!"

"Thanks!" Stiles said brightly as he took off his apron. The smell of coffee seemed imbedded in his skin, but he knew that after a shower and an afternoon with Derek, that scent would be replaced by something else altogether.

He waved goodbye to his new coworkers, relishing the sensation of success that could only come after a hard day's work. Pushing through the doors and out into the street, he sighed. His breath billowed up as the cold air slapped him hard across the face. It was snowing hard. He didn't want to ride home on his bike in this. It would be too difficult. Instead, he unhooked the bike from the rack and moved to the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for a taxi to come so he could flag it down.

There was no traffic in either direction as far as he could see and Derek would be busy for the next few hours. Sighing, Stiles headed up the road in hopes of finding taxis further up. The streets were deserted. Not a single soul walking or driving could be seen as far as Stiles could tell. He paused a moment to pull the gloves out of his pocket, thanking Derek silently that he'd insisted Stiles bring them.

So focused was Stiles on getting somewhere else that he didn't notice the person who had now been tailing him for a few blocks. Even if he had noticed it, he probably would have thought that the man was doing exactly the same thing he had been. He also didn't notice when the man began gaining on him until it was too late. The blow to the back of his head sent Stiles stumbling forward, seeing stars as the ground rushed up to meet him.

He struggled as he was dragged into a nearby alley. The rough concrete and ice scraping up his back as his jacket and shirt hiked up a bit. He was still dizzy and trying to find his bearings when he felt the man let go. He struggled to get to his feet when a powerful fist made contact with his gut. He struggled not to vomit as pain exploded in his abdomen. Another blow struck his jaw and his mouth filled with the bitter metal taste of blood.

The blows came in such rapid succession that he couldn't even defend himself. He fell back to the ground. When the man's boot came crashing into his ribcage, Stiles heard and felt several of them pop. Suddenly, even breathing was agonizing. He wondered what he had done to deserve this. "Please stop…" he managed. Blood spilled out of his mouth as he did so. "You're going to kill me."

"Maybe," said the voice. "I haven't decided yet."

The voice wasn't familiar to Stiles. It wasn't Peter and it wasn't any of his brothers. "Why are you doing this?" Stiles coughed, sending sharp stabs of pain through his chest. Blood sprayed out and Stiles whimpered.

"The fox has been deemed a pest," the man replied. Cryptic as it was, Stiles understood the meaning perfectly. This man had been sent by Peter to kill him or teach him a lesson about desertion.

The man resumed his beating of Stiles until Stiles could barely move. A strong kick to his right leg and Stiles felt the bone break. Another one did the same thing to his left arm. The pain was blinding and Stiles could feel his heart racing as he struggled to take each painful breath. Then the boy felt as the attacker's rough hands pulled off his clothes. He wondered if the last thing he'd feel in this life was the sensations of rape, but the man made no move to do that. He just propped Stiles up against the icy metal dumpster.

"Do you think Daddy Warbucks I going to find you before you die from hypothermia… that is if your injuries don't kill you first?" He sneered as he left Stiles, naked, covered in blood, bruises, cuts, and scrapes alone in the alley as the temperature continued to drop and the snow fell ever harder.

Stiles stared up at the dark, icy gray clouds in the sky as the falling snow added pinpricks of icy pain and the wind burned against his naked flesh. His clothes were in the dumpster and there was no way he could get them. Nothing around him could be used to at least cover himself up. He was going to die. He was going to die without telling Derek how he truly felt. Without saying that one word that would change everything and yet nothing at all because he knew Derek felt the same way. He hoped that Derek would know and not blame himself as the darkness closed in around him and each agonizing breath rattled its way out of his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Thanks for your patience and thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought of the chapter! I apologize for how long it took, hopefully the next one won't take quite as much time to write.


	8. Such Selfish Prayers

There had never been a time in Derek's life since moving out on his own that Derek Hale had been more scared. Even that week that he went without Stiles was not filled with as much anxiety as he felt now. When he called the police, they said that Stiles was likely delayed by the weather and to give it a few more hours.

Hours turned into days and Derek feared the worst. "Please," Derek begged the desk Sargent. "Can you look again?"

A man with piercing blue eyes and short-cut hair walked out of an office. Derek immediately recognized this man from the night at the Wolf Den when he met Stiles. If that man recognized him, he made no indication. "Come in here," he said, motioning to Derek, who quickly bypassed the desk and nearly catapulted his way into the man's office, desperate for any help he might be able to give.

As soon as he was inside, the man closed the door. "I'm Detective Chris Argent," he said. "You're looking for a missing person, right?"

"Yeah," Derek said, immediately launching into his description of Stiles. He placed his hand in the air, indicating his height. "He's about this tall, brown hair and eyes, slim build, very pale…"

Chris jotted down the description onto a small notebook and immediately turned to his computer. Derek bit his lip as he waited for Chris to give him any helpful information. When he realized he was biting his lip in the same way Stiles did, a surge of sadness rose up in him and he immediately stopped. "New Hope General has a John Doe who was found who matches most of your description. He was found naked in an alleyway downtown, beaten up pretty badly, nearly dead, but whether or not from his injuries from hypothermia, it was hard to tell."

"Is he alive?" Derek's voice shook, fearing the answer.

"Yeah, comatose, though," Chris replied, skimming through the report. "I don't have a whole lot more information, but if you want, I can escort you down to the hospital and we can see if that's your guy."

"I've been checking for days," Derek said through gritted teeth. "Why am I just now hearing anything?"

Chris looked around to see if anyone was near his office and then lowered his voice, his eyes moving back to Derek. "I restricted access to this information."

"Why?"

"That information is classified for now," Chris said. "If I escort you to the hospital, we can get there a hell of a lot quicker than if you go on your own."

"Why are you trying to help?" Derek asked suspiciously.

"I think I have a hunch as to who the John Doe is, but he was too beaten for me to make a firm recognition. We have detectives scouring the area where he was found trying to see if they can find anything to identify him by, but until then, if you can help ID him, I'd consider it a great personal favor," Chris said. "You could help us take down a very, very bad guy."

The implications of what he was saying scared Derek, but it was the only lead he'd gotten in more than a week, so he reluctantly nodded his head.

"Good," Chris replied. "Follow me."

Chris led Derek through the precinct to his police car and as soon as they were inside, Chris turned on the lights and sirens and peeled out of the lot, heading toward the hospital. Derek could feel the knot building in his chest the closer they got. When they arrived, Chris pulled into a spot reserved for police and they both got out of the car. It seemed busy in the hospital, but Chris led him through the maze of hallways and elevators, flashing his badge at a nurse's station before ducking into the room.

His face was heavily bruised. He had two casts, one on a leg and one on an arm. His abdomen had been bandaged as well. He understood why Chris might have a hard time identifying him beneath all the injuries, but Derek knew without a doubt that the broken body lying on that bed hooked up to IVs and machines was Stiles.

Derek had to force the air back into his lungs. "That's Stiles. My boyfriend…" he said in a thin voice.

"What's his last name?" Chris asked.

"Stilinski," Derek replied softly.

Chris wrote the name down and then shut the hospital room door. "I have a question that I need to ask," he said cautiously. "But I don't want to seem like I'm being… indelicate." Derek raised an eyebrow, but gave permission for Chris to proceed. "How often did you visit an establishment called 'The Wolf Den'?"

Derek's eyes narrowed. "Should I have a lawyer present for this?"

"You're not under arrest or anything. I've seen you there and I know you saw me. I'm not looking to out your involvement with that place… obviously I'm just as guilty as you are," Chris said. "I'm investigating its owner."

"What for?"

"I can't disclose that at the moment, I'm sorry," Chris said. "Did you know the owner at all?"

Derek nodded. "Yeah, I knew him," he replied bitterly.

"He's done some awful things," Chris said. "I also think he was behind this attack. Stiles used to perform there under the name 'The Fox'. The night he left, he stayed in my apartment. I gave him several hundred bucks to…"

Chris let out a grunt of surprise as Derek pushed him against the wall, holding his arm against the detective's throat. "If you finish that sentence, I swear to God!"

"Calm down," Chris choked, pushing Derek back. "It was something he said to me that night that made me start investigating." His hand reached up reflexively to his neck, rubbing the spot where Derek had struck it. "Before that night with Stiles, I assumed all of the boys working there were doing so willingly. I don't think that's the case. Has he ever mentioned anything to you about his time there? Did he say whether or not the owner was forcing him and the other boys to sleep with the members of the club?"

Derek's eyes went from the wretched sight of Stiles on the hospital bed to Chris' piercing eyes. "If I get wrapped up in this, my career is gone. Everything I've worked for, everything I've aimed to do in my life is gone."

"I'm a detective. Don't you think I know that? I visited that place twice a week, sometimes more. If there are records found, I will personally make sure that your name is obliterated from all of them. I guarantee you complete anonymity," Chris vowed. "But please, Mr. Hale, help me lock this bastard up."

Reluctantly, Derek nodded. "I'll work with you. To make it look more legitimate, we can say that I'm helping consult. I've worked with the department before. But for now, I'd like some time with my boyfriend."

"Of course," Chris said, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a business card. On the back, he wrote his personal cell number. "Here's my info. If you'd like to give me a number I can get in touch with you, as soon as I know anything, I'll reach out."

"Sure," Derek said and gave his number.

Chris shook Derek's hand. "I'll be in touch."

* * *

He held Stiles' unbroken hand in his, bags under his eyes. He had to get a substitute professor for his classes, his radio show was on hiatus, and all of his appointments were cancelled until Stiles was better. It was now going on two weeks that Derek had been in the hospital. He was still in a coma. The doctors weren't even willing to say whether or not they believed he would come out of it.

The extent of his injuries was too great. There was, however, a bruise on Stiles' abdomen that allowed a nearly perfect imprint of the bottom of a boot. Chris had it examined, but the boot was so common it would be impossible to track.

The detective stopped in once a day to check on Stiles, but there was never any change. The heart monitor continued its steady beep, the only way to truly tell that Stiles was alive. Derek left for very short periods of time, typically to get food, a shower, and a fresh change of clothes.

It wasn't until the bruises were completely faded that Stiles finally came out of his coma. Derek's heart leapt into his throat as he felt Stiles' hand squeeze his. His head jerked up and he saw Stiles' eyes flutter open. Immediately he called for a nurse. Several of them as well as a doctor ran in. Immediately they pulled the tube from his throat and began checking various vitals.

"Hello, Stiles," the doctor said, shining a bright light into his eyes. "I'm Dr. Deaton." He did a few tests to see how Stiles was functioning neurologically. It was determined that Stiles was suffering from Post-Traumatic Amnesia. Dr. Deaton promised to be back in a little while and left the two of them alone.

"Stiles, do you know who I am?" Derek asked him, trying to hide the desperation in his voice.

Stiles nodded groggily. "Derek," he said. His voice was scratchy from nonuse.

Derek poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table and slowly lifted it to Stiles' dry, cracked lips. "Here," he whispered, as Stiles gulped down the water. "Slow down, there's plenty of it."

"How long have I been out?" he asked when he was done with the water.

"A week or so. You scared me to death, Stiles," Derek replied. "I was almost out of my mind with worry. Do you remember what happened?"

Stiles shook his head slowly. "The last thing I remember was getting knocked in the back of the head and dragged into an alley…" His eyes became unfocused, his brow furrowed slightly before he exclaimed, "What about my new job?"

Derek smiled at Stiles' apparent list of priorities. "I've spoken to your boss and explained what happened. As soon as you are well enough to do so, you're welcome to resume working."

Stiles smiled in relief, reclining his head against the pillow. "I'm sorry for making you worry so much."

Derek leaned forward and kissed Stiles gently on his lips. "I'm just glad you're safe. Don't worry about me or anything other than getting better."

* * *

Stiles was in the hospital for another week and a half. Because of the broken limbs, he really couldn't use crutches and the lack of autonomy was driving him up a wall. Derek resumed his work and hired a nurse to ensure Stiles was taken care of while he was away.

Derek cooked while Stiles chatted away about one topic or another. Occasionally he remembered things regarding the attack and Derek passed that information along to Chris, who was grateful for any information that could be given.

"Two of the boys have deserted," Chris told him. "He's acquired another one though. A male prostitute who was working in a similar establishment a few towns over. The owner, Duke, says he's approached a few of his other boys, too. Those ones were either too loyal… or too afraid to leave."

"Since when is the police department in cahoots with local pimps?" Derek asked.

"First of all, nobody says 'in cahoots'. Second of all, each of Duke's boys is of age and fully willing. They also give us good tips from time to time," Chris said.

"And I'm sure your officers are giving them _tips_ too."

"Both you and I are guilty of seeing male prostitutes and paying for sex. To claim otherwise makes us hypocrites," Chris pointed out. "Besides… you live with one."

"He's not a prostitute anymore. If I help you with this case and you attempt to railroad him… I swear to God, Argent…" Derek threatened.

"He's a victim. I plan to ensure that none of this comes back on him. You need to trust me, Mr. Hale," Chris urged. "He's been hurt enough."

Derek hung up the phone and tossed it casually on his bedside table. Stiles was lying on top of the comforter looking up at Derek. He had only heard the last few sentences. "What was that about?"

Derek sighed and flopped onto the bed. Stiles winced as the movement triggered his still sore ribs. Derek quickly apologized with a kiss. "I've been working with a detective to try and figure out who attacked you. No leads yet," Derek said softly.

"Anything else?" Stiles asked.

"I don't want to worry you," said Derek softly.

"That's not going to keep me from worrying," Stiles replied.

Taking in a deep breath, Derek took a moment to study the lines and angles of Stiles' face. He brought his hand up caressing the smooth skin of Stiles' cheek. The bruises were finally faded. "He wants to take Peter down."

Stiles immediately shot up, but winced in the agony it caused and went back down, tears of pain threatening to form in his eyes. He took a few deep breaths, willing the pain to pass. "If Peter gets caught, you could go down due to your involvement as a member."

"The scope of this case is so large that Chris has promised to ensure my involvement remains completely anonymous," Derek replied. "I just need to consult. He might end up coming by to ask a few questions, eventually."

"Just be careful," Stiles pleaded.

He didn't look happy, but Derek figured he was simply worried. "Why don't I help you relax?"

Stiles glanced down to his casts and the bindings around his chest. "I'm not exactly capable of bouncing up and down on your cock."

"You don't need to. I'll do all the work." He pulled up close to Stiles and let his hand venture down between the boy's legs. The tip of his middle finger danced around Stiles' hole before slowly entering him. Stiles grunted. "Close your eyes," Derek said. "I want you to be my Good Boy."

A sexy grin danced across Stiles' face. "Yes sir…"

* * *

"I'm sorry, what?" the District Attorney demanded.

"I need to negotiate immunity for someone tied up in a case I'm investigating," Chris repeated.

"Detective, you have no authority to negotiate any deals for anyone," she said. "Now if you wanted to have their lawyer contact me, I'd be more than happy to work with them, but you are not a licensed attorney."

"Marin, please," Chris begged. "I'm building a case that could put you in position to become the next Attorney General. Work with me here. The guy I need this for is a respected member of society. He's been consulting on the case for me and he's been an invaluable part of the investigation. I promised I'd make sure he'd be safe."

"Then perhaps you should, in the future, not make promises you aren't sure you'll be able to keep," District Attorney Morell replied. "The promises you've made do not in any way obligate me to act. Least of all by the request of a detective. Like I said before, have his lawyer reach out to me and we can see if we can come up with some sort of deal."

Chris sighed. He didn't want to have to do this, but she was giving him no other recourse. He had to go for the nuclear option. "Marin, if you don't cooperate on this, then you could potentially be helping to keep a man on the streets who is systematically targeting underage boys, raping them, and whoring them out against their will. I don't know about you, but your enabling him to do so could be construed as taking a remarkably light stance on child prostitution and human trafficking. It's a fantastic platform to run on in an election year. I'm certain you'll get the NAMBLA vote."

Marin Morell's lips pressed together in a thin, unhappy line. "Are you seriously trying to blackmail the District Attorney?"

"Of course not," Chris said, finally taking a seat. He sat back, relaxed as he crossed his right leg over his left, smiling at her. "That would be highly unethical of me. I'm just saying that my family has a lot of money for ad campaigns. The ads which run about you, in particular, can either make sure you get the position, or ensure that you never again hold an elected office." He smiled pleasantly at her. "It's entirely up to you."

* * *

The tension in the room made the hair on the back of Derek's neck stand on end. He wasn't a fan of this plan, but Chris had assured him it was the only way to proceed with the investigation. He sat next to Stiles on the couch. Stiles was pointedly not looking Chris' way. He had avoided eye contact with Chris from the first moment he realized that he was the person behind the investigation.

Derek had assured him that he already knew they'd had sex and he wasn't angry, but it didn't do anything to assuage the guilt that bubbled up in Stiles every time he looked at the detective. Inching his hand over until there were mere millimeters of space between them. Stiles hands were strong, nimble and deft. Sucking a deep breath into his lungs, Derek grabbed Stiles' hand and interlaced his fingers, squeezing softly to reassure the boy.

The gesture caught Stiles off-guard and he looked over at Derek. For a moment time stopped moving and Derek was lost in the fathomless depths of Stiles' eyes. He forgot to breathe and his heart raced. Suddenly his hands felt clammy. Stiles smiled and his eyes brightened momentarily before the sound of the door closing snapped them both out of their dazes.

A statuesque man with sharp, angular features strode into the room. He held himself high, walking as if he knew the place well and was as comfortable here as in he would be in his own home. He took his seat in a chair across from Stiles and Derek, leaving Chris to take the last remaining one.

"Derek, Stiles, this is Duke," Chris said calmly. "He runs _The Alpha & Omega_, a club catering to a BDSM clientele."

"I've heard of them," Stiles said softly. "Some of my clients went there, too."

Deucalion was staring at Stiles in a way that twisted Derek's stomach into knots of jealous rage. "You're The Fox, aren't you?" he asked in his elegant British accent, knowing the answer already.

Derek was surprised to hear that he was British. Stiles nodded. "I was known by that name when I…" he trailed off, not knowing exactly how to finish that sentence.

"I've heard much about you," Deucalion replied. "The clients who solicited both my services and those of Peter Hale spoke very highly about you. They lamented that I would not let them go as far with my boys as Peter permitted them to go with you. What endurance you must have developed."

"He was forced against his will," Derek growled through gritted teeth. "He was continuously raped. Don't fetishize his suffering."

" _Tsk, tsk, tsk,_ " Deucalion said, seeming barely to notice Derek. "Not everyone holds the laws of our community in as high esteem as I do. I'm very sorry to hear that, Stiles."

"How do you know his name?" Derek demanded, rising instantly to his feet.

"I know quite a bit about him, actually," Deucalion replied, not so much as blinking at Derek's outburst. "I know that he lost his virginity at 16, started working in the business at 18, and that he recently defected from Peter Hale's little private army of prostitutes."

Derek's murderous glare turned instantly to Chris. "How does he know all this?"

"I had to tell him," said Chris in a voice barely above a whisper.

"You promised me you would keep him safe!" Derek shouted.

"Nobody is endangering Stiles," Deucalion said, his bored voice dripping with condescension. "But my cooperation comes at a price, Derek."

"Of course," Derek seethed. "Criminals never want to just do the right thing because it'll help someone."

A bemused smile crossed Deucalion's face, causing him to flash his perfectly straight, white teeth. "A criminal, you call me?"

"You're a fucking pimp," Derek spat.

At this, Deucalion laughed. It was a genuine, from-the-gut laugh. "You're embarrassing yourself, Dr. Hale. Stop talking while I still have a shred of respect for you."

"Deucalion's intel will assure that this case can go to trial," Chris said. "I've already had to twist the DA's arm to ensure your immunity and anonymity in these proceedings. This is the last piece of the puzzle before we can solicit a judge to give us permission to raid _The Wolf Den_.'

Derek finally sat down, but every muscle in his body seemed tense, ready to strike at a moment's notice. "Then what is this all-important information?" he demanded.

"First, we must discuss price," Deucalion said. "My price is rather simple, really." He pointed a finger directly at Stiles. "I want him."

"You're out of your fucking mind," Derek growled, once again springing to his feet. His face was red with rage and there was a tremble to his voice and hands. "He's just a boy."

"I'm a grown adult," said Stiles, speaking for the first time. "To be fair, Derek, I'm capable of making my own choices."

"It only has to be one or two days a week, but I want him to work for me as a prostitute and as my submissive," Deucalion elaborated. "I will personally ensure that he is protected and safe words and rules are followed at all times."

"Absolutely not," Derek said.

Stiles put his hand up to silence Derek. He stared at Deucalion. "The information you have… you're positive that it'll result in a warrant?"

"I'm positive that it's your only hope," Deucalion replied.

"Then I'll do it," Stiles said.

"No you won't," Derek replied quickly. He looked from Deucalion to Chris. "Can you give us a few moments alone?"

Chris nodded and rose to his feet, indicating for Deucalion to do the same. They filed out of the room leaving Stiles alone with Derek.

"If this will help put Peter away, why don't you want me to do this?" Stiles asked.

"Because you've been hurt so much already, Stiles," Derek said.

"He promised he would protect me," Stiles sighed.

"And you trust him?"

"What choice do I have?" Stiles asked. "I went out on a limb and trusted you."

"It isn't the same thing! How is this anything like that?"

Stiles sighed. "It taught me that good things can come from trusting people. But even if this turns badly, I'm ok falling on this sword. Sometimes you have to do something even when every instinct in your body is telling you to run as far and as fast as you can… because it's the right thing to do."

"How is this the right thing to do? You're putting yourself directly in harms' way and in a place where I can't protect you anymore! Twice now I thought I lost you forever and both times it nearly killed me. I won't survive a third," Derek finally admitted.

"If there's even a chance that me doing this can protect someone else from what happened to me, then I have to do it. If it will save my brothers… I have to do this," he said softly.

"I don't want you to."

"Why not?"

"Because the thought of another man touching you…" Derek trailed off as his face reddened.

"I don't like it, either," Stiles replied. "But it's a small price to pay for what Deucalion can offer."

"Selling your body for this?" Derek replied. "There's another way. We can find another way to get the information. This isn't a small price. This is practically extortion!"

"Why does it matter so much to you?" Stiles demanded. "I'm just some random ex-hooker who lives with you."

This was by no means the context in which Derek wanted to do this, but he needed to. "I love you," he said. "I don't know why I waited so long to tell you. But I love you, Stiles. I started falling in love with you the first day we met and I've fallen a little harder every day after that."

Stiles was taken aback. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

"Because I didn't want my feelings to influence you," Derek admitted. "If you don't feel the same way about me, I understand… but I'm scared for you, Stiles. I don't trust him to keep you safe. I hate this. I hate everything about this."

Stiles struggled to his feet and hobbled toward Derek. His lips clumsily made contact with Derek's and immediately felt the man's arms wrap around him, supporting him. "I love you, too," he said when they finally stopped kissing. "But I have to do this. I'm so sorry Derek. Leave me if you want to. But if it means saving someone I love, I can't afford not to take this option…" He saw the look on Derek's face. It cut through him. "I'm sorry I disappointed you, Derek."

"You haven't disappointed me," Derek sighed. "You're following your heart."

After helping Stiles sit back down, Derek went to get the other two. Only after they were once again all seated, Derek's arm was protectively around Stiles, did they announce the decision. "Obviously we need to wait for Stiles to heal," Derek added. Deucalion seemed supremely pleased with himself.

"And Stiles, you're alright with this?" Chris asked.

"It was my decision. If it will stop Peter and help my brothers, then yes. I'll do whatever Deucalion wants," Stiles replied.

"Exactly what I like to hear," Deucalion replied.

* * *

The sweet tang of Stiles' skin excited Derek as his tongue traced up and down the boy's body. The casts were off and Stiles had his full range of motion. When Derek had asked him what he wanted to do to celebrate, the boy's response was immediate and Derek was only all-too eager to fulfil the request.

"Keep going," Stiles urged. His legs were perched on Derek's shoulders. "Faster… harder…" Derek was pounding himself in and out of Stiles, but at the boy's urgings, picked up the pace. He was almost afraid of hurting him when the torrent of seed erupted from Stiles, hitting Derek on his chest, neck and chin.

Stiles had asked for a night of sex without domination, since the next day he was to report to Deucalion's dungeon club and spend the entire day training under the man. Derek forced away the murderous thoughts bubbling up I his head as the image of Stiles, tied up and whipped, being fucked by Deucalion flashed across his mind's eye. Tonight, it was just them. Tonight it was two boyfriends—they now both used the word in reference to the other—enjoying each other's body and providing mutual pleasure. "You've come twice already…" Derek noted.

"And you haven't come once… you need to catch up," Stiles replied, attacking Derek's lips with his own. He was wild in his passion, like a tiger that had been caged for too long and finally set free. He roamed Derek's body, seeking to help his boyfriend achieve the level of pleasure he'd already received twice.

Using his entire body, Stiles flipped them so that he was now on top, still seated firmly on Derek's cock, which still remained hard inside him. It always hurt a little after he had come, but he was used to pain mixing with pleasure. He longed to see that look Derek always got on his face during his release. It was one of the sexiest things Stiles had ever seen, besides Derek himself, of course. There was something within him, now that they had finally admitted that they loved one another, that burned within him every time he looked at Derek. When their skin touched, the conflagration that erupted within him became almost unbearable. This was what being in love was, Stiles knew. He cherished this feeling because he never thought he'd be able to have it.

Stiles rose up and down on Derek's cock, leaning forward to kiss his lips, face, neck, and chest. "Would it help you if I wore my collar?" Stiles asked, knowing that Derek required some dominating aspect to truly enjoy sex.

Derek had been chewing the inside of his lower lip. "You said you didn't want any domination tonight."

"But I want you to enjoy this as much as I am," Stiles complained. "We haven't had sex since my attack, unless you count the time you fingered me a few weeks ago—which was hot, but it's not like you got anything out of it."

"I got something out of it," Derek assured him with a devilish grin that threatened to stop Stiles' heart with the lust it evoked.

Not letting Derek slip out of him, Stiles leaned over and grabbed his collar out of the top drawer in his bedside table, easily buckling it around his neck. He felt Derek's cock twitch at the sight and grinned. "How would you like me to please you, sir?" he asked in a low, husky voice. "How can I be a Good Boy for you tonight?"

Derek's eyes lit up and immediately he began pumping up into Stiles. Just those two questions had turned him on immensely.

Stiles squeezed his eyes tightly at the exquisite mix of pleasure and pain caused by Derek's vigorous pumping. He squeezed himself around Derek, adding his own moans and grunts to the chorus already begun by his boyfriend—his Dom.

When Derek erupted, it was like a bullet train hitting a concrete wall. It was violent, and powerful. Weeks of pent-up sexual frustration exploded out of him, filling Stiles, who was now sweating profusely as he felt the powerful torrents of Derek's seed shoot inside him. Still, Derek kept thrusting.

The golden-red lights of early dawn began to trickle into their bedroom when Derek finally pulled out of Stiles. The sheets were completely ruined and there were spots throughout the house that Derek knew he'd need to clean before his housekeeper got there. Stiles was trembling on the bed beside him, sweat and semen covering his abdomen. Derek could have gone three more rounds, but he knew Stiles couldn't. They'd been fucking for more than twelve hours. Derek wanted little more than to pump another load into the boy's guts, but Stiles needed to rest. The countless loads already placed there were slowly trickling out as Derek pulled Stiles close and wrapped his arms and legs around the boy, taking him protectively—possessively against his own body.

"Are you alright?" Derek asked softy. Stiles' hair was sticking to his forehead and neck. "I rode you kind of hard…" His fingers deftly unlatched the collar, pulling it off and tossing it on the floor.

Stiles nodded, breathing in the heady stink of sex like it was a fine perfume. He was still panting for breath. "It's been a long time since…" Stiles said, too tired to even finish the sentence.

"Get some sleep," Derek urged. "There's still a while until you're due at Deucalion's." He kissed Stiles urgently, but broke it before his body demanded another round.

Stiles sensed this. "If you want to fuck me a few more times, you can," he said.

"I'm not going to fuck you while you're asleep, Stiles," he replied.

"Then I'll stay awake," Stiles vowed. "But you're still horny as hell, I can sense it. Go ahead, Derek… fuck me as many more times as you need to."

"If I keep going, I'm afraid I'll end up hurting you."

Stiles adjusted the way his body rested against Derek's, then reached behind him, guiding Derek back into him. The hole was remarkably tight, considering what had just been done to it, and its wet warmth swallowed Derek's nine inches back inside like they belonged there. Derek knew without a single doubt that they did.

Moments later, Derek was again pounding himself into Stiles, whose body rocked beneath the force of Derek's thrusts. "Keep going…" Stiles urged.

Derek did. He kept going until he came again, rested for a few minutes then started again… and again… and again until even _he_ was too tired to continue. He was too tired to even pull out, but Stiles was satisfied, now, with Derek fully spent and lodged within him.

"Is this what our sex life is going to be like from now on?" Stiles asked drowsily.

"I certainly hope so," Derek replied, a smile on his face as he finally drifted to sleep.

* * *

As soon as Stiles was out of the car, Derek texted Scott. _I need an emergency session._

There were a few moments before his phone buzzed. _My 2pm cancelled_.

Derek threw the car into gear and sped out onto the highway, his knuckles white from how hard he gripped the steering wheel.

Once at the building where Scott hosted his counseling practice, Derek took the stairs two at a time, climbing all the way to the 9th floor landing. He should have been exhausted after the night he'd spent, but all he could think about was how Deucalion was going to be fucking his boyfriend and rage bubbled up inside him, fueling him.

Scott was standing alone in the waiting room when Derek entered. "You look pissed," he noted.

"My boyfriend is currently being fucked by another man," Derek seethed.

"He's cheating on you?" Scott asked. "Derek I'm so sorry."

"No… he's not cheating on me… he's working."

"Old habits die hard. I won't say that I told you so," Scott said.

"It's not like that," Derek snapped. "This was the price for information that could take down his old pimp."

"What was the information?" Scott asked.

Derek shrugged, sinking into the chair. "He refused to divulge it in front of us. It pisses me off. That kid can't catch a fucking break."

"What do you mean?"

"He gets raped and prostituted when he's only still a child. He finally starts to live a normal life with a man who loves him, gets enrolled in school, gets a job, then is beaten nearly to death and stripped, left to die in an alleyway and—"

"Wait a second… the man found on the night of the blizzard… that was Stiles?"

"Yeah… why do you ask?"

* * *

They were in a dungeon room. Deucalion had already introduced Stiles to the two other Doms—Master Ennis and Mistress Kali—as well as the other two subs, a set of twins named Ethan and Aiden. "You'd be surprised at how many people want to play with them together," Deucalion muttered. He was wrong. It didn't surprise Stiles at all. Both of the twins were on all fours on the floor. Each wore a collar and a wolf's tail plug. They were also both on leashes with Ennis holding Aiden's and Kali holding Ethan's. "In their spare time, our two resident Doms enjoy training them."

Deucalion dismissed the other workers, leaving them alone. Stiles' pulse thundered in his ears as Deucalion ordered him to undress. He did as told and watched the older man strip down as well. "Today will be about you and I getting to know one another as Dom and sub. I will be your Dominant while you work here with me. I understand that at home, Mr. Hale is your Dominant. Are there any rules he requires you to follow at all times?"

"No sir," Stiles replied meekly. "Our Dom/sub relationship isn't actually a 24/7 thing. Usually he'll say something and that tells me we're going into that role. It's usually only while we're having sex."

"Well, I have some rules for you to follow while you and I play. You will call me only 'Master'. Nothing else," Deucalion said. "And I want to make a few things very clear: I am the only person within these walls permitted to train you. I have been training subs for longer than you've been alive. I'm very good at it and I follow the rules and demand everyone else do the same. There will be times when people will watch me train you, but nobody aside from me is to tie you up, hit you, torture you, or anything else of that nature except when I bring Ennis in for help. Do you understand me?"

"Yes Master," Stiles replied.

"Furthermore," Duke continued. "You _are_ a prostitute under my employ. In addition to me and Ennis, I expect you to have sex with members of this club. Unlike your previous employer, you will receive 60% of all money collected from your services. Use of condoms with cub members is required and that is not negotiable. Only Ennis and myself may make use of you without them. Occasionally, I might allow you to play with the twins. They are to use a condom as well. Since you are the only one to be here one day a week, the first half of your day will typically consist of entertaining clients in 30-minute appointment windows. You will have a few moments between each one to brush your teeth or lube up. After you've taken care of your clients for the day, you and I will train."

"What if a client says or does something that I don't want?"

"You do not have to take abuse. You are allowed to set the limits as to what may be done to you. Rape is not permitted in these walls. The last man who tried that… well, he had a very difficult time finding the teeth Ennis knocked out with my letter opener in his eye," Deucalion replied with eerie calm. "I am nothing like Peter Hale. I will not tolerate my employees being mistreated."

"I appreciate that, Master."

"Are there any activities or words that are off limits for you, Stiles?" he asked thoughtfully.

"No kissing on the lips, fisting, sounding, scat, or watersports," Stiles listed off. "And I don't want to be called a whore or slut… or a good boy."

Deucalion nodded as Stiles listed off his limits, but furrowed his brow at the last one. "Might I ask why you do not wish to be called a good boy?"

"Only Derek can call me that," Stiles replied. "It's kind of our thing."

That seemed to amuse Deucalion, but that amusement lasted a mere few moments. Stiles studied the Dom's body. Despite its lean build, every muscle was visible. Deucalion reached down and stroked his cock a few times, stirring it to life. "It's time for a skill test," he announced. "I want you to give me a blowjob."

Stiles sank to his knees, placing his right hand around the base of the shaft and the left hand against Deucalion's powerful thigh. He wasted no time bringing the cock into the back of his throat where he used his expertly trained throat muscles to do most of the work. He looked up, seeing the smile on Deucalion's face, taking it to mean that he was pleased. He let Stiles do his job, offering encouragements in the form of moans and grunts. Toward the end, he did as most men did: he held Stiles' head still and pumped in and out of it until releasing right into Stiles' mouth.

"Very good, Stiles," Deucalion replied. "Very good, indeed. I dare say that not even the gay twin would have done better."

Stiles wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His mouth and chin were covered with saliva. "The one Ennis trains?"

"No, Aiden is straight. Ethan is the one who's gay," Deucalion clarified, and saw the look of confusion pass over Stiles. "They both got bored servicing only clients that coincided with their personal sexual orientations. Recently, they asked to be trained on the opposite sex of their usual clientele. Now Aiden can take cock like he was born to it and Ethan is able to pleasure a woman better than his brother. It's quite magnificent, really."

Stiles nodded his understanding and sat patiently. Deucalion waited a few moments before ordering Stiles to the bed. Duke slathered lube onto his cock and turned Stiles onto all fours. He looked down at Stiles' awaiting hole. "I see that you and your boyfriend had some fun last night… I would have thought he'd give you a night off considering that today was your first day working for me." He shrugged and shoved himself in. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and tensed, his back arcing as he grunted at the rough, painful intrusion. "It's all the same to me, really."

* * *

Stiles limped his way into Derek's car, and slowly eased himself down. His back and bottom were sore from repeated fuckings and beatings. Derek immediately tensed as he saw the way Stiles was gingerly handling himself. "Stiles… what's wrong? What did he do to you?"

"Nothing I can't handle," Stiles replied as he clicked the seat belt into place.

Derek, on the other hand, unfastened his own seat belt and moved to get out of the car. Stiles reached his arm out, placing it on his boyfriend's hand. "Derek please don't. I'll be fine."

"You can barely walk!"

"He offered to stop. I'm the one who told him to keep going. Please, Derek… it's fine."

A tense silence settled over the drive home. When they pulled into the garage, Stiles gingerly pulled himself out of the car, Derek rushing over to help. He helped Stiles peel the clothes off, seeing, for the first time the deep purple lines across the boy's butt and legs. He unsuccessfully attempted to stifle a gasp. "Stiles… what the fuck?"

Derek disappeared into the bathroom for a moment and came out holding a small tube of something. Stiles didn't see it, but it felt cold against his skin. "It was a cane."

Little red lines snaked up and down the rest of his body. Derek guessed they were either from a flogger, a whip, or a paddle—likely a combination of the three. Derek squeezed some of the contents of the tube onto his fingers and began gently applying it to the most severe injuries first. "This is lidocaine. It should help with the pain."

It did, within minutes, the cool cream seemed to ease the pain.

"Why did you ask for this?" Derek asked after he had finished applying the ointment.

"Because when pain is severe enough, you can just detach," Stiles replied. "Then it can be anyone you want doing it. It wasn't me and Deucalion in that moment, it was us… and I was your Good Boy."

Derek paused for a moment. He feared that Stiles believed him to be capable of inflicting this much damage on him. He couldn't. There was no way. He struggled to make his voice work for a few moments. "Are you feeling up to meeting someone?"

"As long as it doesn't take too long," Stiles replied. "I'm really tired."

"It'll take only a few moments, I swear," Derek said. "Stay here and rest, I'll come get you when he's here."

* * *

Having sex with the new boy did nothing to distract Peter from taking his important phone calls. Liam paused for a moment as his new boss reached over and checked his phone. He glared at the boy. "Did I tell you to stop?"

"No, Daddy," the young man said, resuming the tiring work of bouncing up and down on his dick.

"Hello?"

"Why Mr. Hale," said the smooth Berkshire accent on the other end. "Good evening."

"Why are you calling me, Duke?"

"This is more a call of professional courtesy than anything else. I now have something that used to be yours… and I acquired it by selling you to the District Attorney's office," Deucalion replied.

"So why tell me?" Peter asked, slapping Liam on the ass in an attempt to motivate him to go faster.

"Why are you so surprised that I'd do the honorable thing? You and I do go back quite a long time, Peter. I'm giving you the opportunity to turn your merchandise over to me and get out of town," Deucalion replied. "You can even tell Liam that I'll accept him back with no repercussions. I can hear him riding you."

"How do I know that what you're saying is true? How do I know this isn't just an attempt to remove out your only competition?" demanded Peter.

To his surprise, Deucalion chuckled. "Now Peter… you and I both know that if this were about removing competition, your throat would be slit by now. I have always prided myself on being much more direct with my enemies."

"Since when are you my enemy?" Peter asked curiously.

"I was just about to ask you the same question," Deucalion replied. "Though, at this point, I've fulfilled any obligation our history together might have given me. Whether or not you choose to heed this warning is entirely up to you." Deucalion paused.  "I fucked The Fox to within an inch of his life today, by the way. I think this trade has been quite marvelous, even though neither of us consented to it. Do give Liam my best, won't you?"

"Thanks for the call," Peter said before hanging up and resuming his activity. He flipped them so that Liam was face-down on the bed and drove his cock in over and over until finally erupting inside the boy. "Your old boss says hello," he grunted before pulling out.

* * *

Derek had promised Stiles he wouldn't even need to get dressed. Instead, he was tucked beneath layers of sheets and blankets. A man a few years younger than Derek followed him into the room. "Stiles, this is my friend and colleague Scott McCall. Scott, this is my boyfriend, Stiles."

"I don't mean to intrude. I just wanted to meet you," Scott said, holding out a hand.

"It's fine," Stiles replied, sitting up against the headboard, making sure his lower half remained covered by the blanket. "Nice to meet you, Scott."

"Stiles, I thought you might want to meet the man who saved your life."

* * *

_The bitter cold seemed to slice through Scott as he trudged down the street. He was a few blocks from his apartment, but no taxis were running. He had to get home. The streets were abandoned. Everyone else—everyone smart, that is—had gone home when the warnings went out._

_He could barely make out the familiar shapes of the fire hydrants and signs and mailboxes that he passed every day along this route to and from his practice. He barely made out the shape of a man running out of an alley and down the street, away from him. For a moment he thought he'd imagined it. But he trusted his mind more than to think of that. He picked up his pace, keeping an eye on the alleyway the man had come out of. He'd gotten out of there awfully quickly and a knot was forming in Scott's chest, the way it always did when he suspected there was something wrong._

_He went as fast as he could without risking slipping and falling on the icy sidewalk and barreled into the alley. Snow had begun accumulating on the boy's naked form. Some of it was white, but more of it was red. The way the boy was slumped, his lips blue and his skin a ghostly gray, Scott feared he was dead. He rushed to the boy's side. Pulling his glove off with his teeth, he placed his fingers against the boy's neck. The pulse was faint. If much more time passed, it wouldn't be there at all._

_The boy was completely naked, every inch of his skin exposed to the harsh and bitter cold. Scott fumbled for his phone, desperately trying to get his freezing fingers to tap out 9-1-1. At first he struggled to make his voice work. He was worried this boy might die, but when he finally forced the address and situation out, he hung up the phone, immediately trying to figure out how to help him in the meantime._

_Remarkably little time passed before the lights and sirens filled the air, and the boy was lifted up. His skin had begun stick to the metal dumpster. They strapped him to a gurney and put him in the back of the ambulance. A detective with deep blue eyes introduced himself as Chris Argent and began asking for information about the boy—information Scott was unable to give._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: So this was a long chapter, lots happened... but I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. When it comes to that scene between Chris and the DA, all I have to say is that I've been watching too much House of Cards lately lol! Let me know how you enjoyed it!


	9. Moving to Higher Ground

Working the brothel portion of his shift at _The Alpha & Omega_ was not nearly as exhausting as his time working in _The Wolf Den_. The bed was comfortable and the clients actually cared about whether or not Stiles got off in the process, too. He had enough time between the clients to prepare himself, and it was only a few hours.

The door opened and Stiles was surprised to see that he knew that face. It was Chris. He furrowed his brow and sat up. "What are you doing here?"

"I needed a chance to talk to you without anyone to hear," Chris replied.

"So you paid for a half an hour with me?" asked an incredibly skeptical Stiles.

Chris shrugged. "I didn't know what else to do to get us some time alone."

Stiles patted the bed space next to him. "Well, let's talk."

Chris pulled out a notebook and pen and began asking his questions. "Did Peter know you were underage the first time he had sex with you?"

"Yes, he was well aware," Stiles replied.

"Were the other boys aware of your age the first time they had sex with you?" Chris asked.

"They were, but Peter ordered them to," Stiles replied. "You have to promise me that if Peter goes down, they don't go down with him. It's not their fault. They were in the same position I was."

"So they were victims, too?"

"I hate that word," Stiles muttered, crinkling up his nose.

Chris' questions continued for a few more minutes, fishing for any information he could possibly get on Peter. "That about does it, Stiles. Thanks for your help."

Stiles nodded. "You're welcome." Stiles, who had been naked this entire time, looked down. He could see the tent forming in Chris' pants. "Are you sure you don't need help with that first?"

Chris reddened. "I'm on the clock…"

"A lot of men who visit me here are on the clock, too," Stiles replied, taking the liberty to unzip the front of his trousers and pull out the rock-hard, pulsing member. Suddenly Chris was like a man possessed. He placed his hand on the back of Stiles' head and eased him down onto it. Stiles immediately got to work and Chris took off his clothes, tossing them casually around the room.

It became obvious that he frequented this place, too, because he knew right where the condoms and lube were kept and pulled them out. He eased Stiles up off his dick before telling him to roll the condom onto it.

Stiles did as told. Soon, he was lying on his back, legs spread with Chris pumping feverishly in and out of him. Droplets of moisture rained down on his face, neck, and chest. At first, Stiles thought Chris was sweating. The room was rather warm, so it happened often. But at closer look, he saw that the water coming down the man's face was actually tears.

He continued to thrust until finally releasing himself into the condom and then pulled out, collapsing back onto the bed, crying harder.

"What's wrong? Is it something I said or did?" Stiles asked, unsure how to help the situation.

"I'm so sorry, Stiles," Chris finally replied. "I should not have done that to you."

"It's fine," Stiles said softly, resting his hand on the man's chest. "It's what I'm here for."

"I have a sickness," Chris confessed. "I need help…"

"Lots of men have sex with prostitutes, Chris. It doesn't make you a bad person," Stiles assured him.

Chris shook his head as Stiles carefully removed the condom from his client's dick and threw it away. He was still rock hard. "It makes me a bad person because I was—am—only so horny because of you telling me what you went through. I lie awake at night thinking about you… and our night together in my apartment. I made you leave that morning because if I didn't, you would still be there, tied to my headboard and ready for me to use at a moment's notice."

Stiles was slightly horrified by this.

Chris noticed and was filled with even more guilt. "I'm so sorry for what I've done to you, Stiles… for the fact that you're once again a prostitute."

"I'm doing this so that Deucalion helps you. As long as Peter is arrested, it'll all be worth it," Stiles said, deciding to busy himself by cleaning up a bit. There was a clean towel within arm's reach. Stiles grabbed it and moved to wipe away the lube from the inside of his legs and ass cheeks.

Chris stopped him. "I'm ashamed to ask this," he began. "But… will you let me fuck you one final time? I promise I won't ever do it again."

Stiles felt a tingle of unease, but ultimately, the man paid for the full 30 minutes and he still had quite a bit of time left. Slowly he nodded and then Chris put him in the position he wanted. Stiles was lying face-down, hands pinned above his head by Chris' powerful grip. Some pillows had been placed in such a way that it kept his ass in the air as Chris shoved his now un-protected cock deep into Stiles. Each thrust was punctuated with sobs and pleas for forgiveness until, at last, he finished.

Ashamed of himself, Chris refused to look at Stiles after, which pissed the boy off. "You don't get to feel sorry for yourself about this," Stiles scolded. "You now need to buck the fuck up and do the job you've promised us you'll do. Get my brothers and me out of this situation and put Peter Hale behind bars."

"Peter has paid off all of the judges in the area. They won't sign a warrant," Chris said.

"That's not fucking good enough," Stiles said angrily, moving to his feet, thinking. They'd been studying federal government in his GED classes. "Human trafficking technically is a federal crime. Once the burden of proof is established, the case would be handed over to the FBI anyway. Why not skip a step and just go ahead and get the federal courts involved? The FBI is also responsible for investigating political corruption so you're handing over two cases that you've done all the legwork on anyway…"

"If I do that, any guarantees of safety I've given to Derek could be invalidated," Chris sighed. "Not to mention the fact that my guarantee of Derek's safety came from coercion."

Stiles' eyes lit up. "Derek has an easy out. I'm the only one he ever slept with. The rest of the time, he was just drinking. I know I can convince Isaac to lie, Jordan… he might be a bit harder to convince… but we can say that your involvement with the club was investigative. Derek was advising, too. He started going to the club to observe and be an extra set of eyes."

"They could subject you to a polygraph. Are you sure you'd be able to convince them in that situation?"

Grinning, Stiles nodded. "Polygraphs are considered circumstantial evidence in court. Besides, prostitutes are the best liars." He screwed his face up a bit and put on a convincingly strained voice. "Oh god… that's the biggest dick I've ever seen…" he paused for a moment, adding, "I've never been fucked so well before in my life…" Chris began to blush. "I could go on," Stiles admitted.

"Please don't," Chris replied. But he had to admit, Stiles' plan was good. "I'll come by later to talk about this to Derek. I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell him about…" Chris trailed off, but Stiles didn't need him to finish the sentence.

"I'll keep your secret safe," Stiles promised him. "But you should really see a shrink."

Stiles was given a few moments after Chris left and used that time to clean himself out. He wasn't supposed to allow men to have unprotected sex with him, but it just sort of happened. He was unsure if Deucalion would be as understanding.

* * *

Stiles noticed a pattern forming as Derek picked him up from his time at _The Alpha & Omega._ They rode home in silence. Stiles would then retire to his bedroom to do schoolwork until dinner was ready. They ate, mostly in silence, and Stiles would try to help clean up, but Derek would wave him off, so he'd go back to his bedroom to finish his homework until Derek appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, announcing that he'd be going to bed. Stiles would then get up and follow him.

The rest of the days of the week—the ones in which Stiles did not work at _The Alpha & Omega_—were much different. Stiles went to work at the coffee shop, then to his GED classes, then back to the coffee shop until Derek picked him up. The time was filled with conversation and laughter.

It made Stiles ill. He hated thinking that Derek thought differently of him on the days he was a prostitute. It made him feel that he was somehow dirty or inferior and it killed him that Derek might think this way of him.

Not wanting Derek to be surprised by Chris' appearance, Stiles decided to break the silence that had formed. "We'll be having a guest for dinner."

"Who?"

"Chris," Stiles replied. "He's coming over to discuss the investigation."

"Oh," he replied flatly. "I'll make extra."

There was no extra discussion for the entire ride home. Stiles slammed the car door shut after getting out. He also made it a point to slam the house door, too, timing it so that it happened right in Derek's face. Derek sighed before opening the door and following Stiles inside.

"Something on your mind, Stiles?" he asked.

Stiles feigned not hearing him for a moment before responding overly dramatically. "Oh, I'm a person again? I'm sorry, I'm having a difficult time understanding how long it takes between the last man I fuck and when I am no longer just some gross slut in your eyes."

Derek was taken aback. "Stiles, I don't know what you're talking about."

Stiles cold feel his cheeks and ears growing red with anger. "Bull fucking shit, Derek!" he yelled. "Sucking guys' dicks doesn't affect my intelligence. Don't you think that I've figured out the pattern? Despite what you might think about me, I'm actually pretty good at seeing patterns, Derek. I see the difference in the ways you treat me on the days I work for Deucalion."

"It's not what you think," Derek said.

"Don't insult me by lying, Derek," Stiles said, his temper growing. Tears were spilling from his eyes, only fueling his anger further. "You don't talk to me… you don't touch me… you won't even kiss me. And that isn't even what hurts the most, really… what hurts the most is that you can't even admit to yourself that for the first time since we met, you actually see me as a filthy whore."

"This isn't easy for me, either," Derek sighed.

"Oh yeah… I can totally see how men crawling all over me and sticking their dicks into _me_ can be difficult for _you_. I'm not sure how you get through the day knowing all the men your slutty boyfriend has sex with," Stiles ranted. He raised his hand, pointing accusingly at Derek. "I can't believe I was so selfish to not be thinking about how terrible this situation is for the high and mighty Derek Hale."

"It's not that, Stiles," Derek said softly. "I'd never think that of you, and honestly, I can't believe you'd think that I would."

"Well what other reason could it possibly be?" Stiles demanded. "How else am I supposed to interpret your actions?"

Before he could answer, there was a knock on the door and Chris let himself in. "I heard yelling from outside," he said. "Is everything alright?"

"It's fine," Stiles snapped. "Derek just thinks he's been overpaying for my services." With that, Stiles stormed out of the room.

"Trouble in paradise?" Chris asked sheepishly.

Derek just sighed and shook his head. "Stiles has gotten it into his head that I somehow love him less since he went to work for Deucalion."

"Why would he think that?" Chris asked curiously.

"He thinks that I treat him differently the days he works there."

"Do you?"

"Yes, but not for the reason he thinks," Derek replied, moving over to the bar to pour himself a scotch. He offered one to Chris who politely declined. "I just thought that after a day doing what he does, he wouldn't want yet someone else pawing at him. I was just trying to give him a break."

"Obviously he doesn't see it that way," Chris replied softly. "But he'll come around, Derek. He loves you and I know you love him."

Derek nodded, appreciating Chris' words of encouragement. "So Stiles tells me you wanted to discuss the investigation?"

Chris sighed, reclining slightly in his chair. "I need to forward this investigation up to the FBI. This means that the immunity I offered you would be nullified."

Panic began to build up in Derek's chest as he imagined his life being splashed across newspapers and news outlets and his career diving into the toilets. He began to shake. "You can't do this… please…"

Chris moved to Derek's side, placing a comforting hand on the man's back. "Derek, I promised you that I would protect you. That's why I have come up with an alibi to ensure that you come out alright." Derek looked up at him, fear still clouding his large green eyes. "The only person you ever slept with from _The Wolf Den_ was Stiles. I'll certify that you were investigating with me and under cover."

"But doesn't that negate my relationship with him?" Derek asked. "I'm not willing to lie and say that my entire relationship with him was just gathering intel."

"Of course not," Chris said. "During the course of you two working together on the investigation, you fell in love. When it became too dangerous for him to remain in the situation, you went to the next logical step and moved him in with you."

"And Stiles is alright with this?"

Chris nodded. "It was his idea, actually. But this is the best way to ensure that we get your uncle behind bars. Due to the human trafficking element of the crime, it would have been inevitable that the FBI got involved, anyway. Doing it this way ensures that we can control more of what happens and I may be able to negotiate us staying on the case so that we can continue to consult, considering we've basically handed them a slam-dunk case."

"But this is the FBI we're talking about. They're going to be investigating us and our involvement with the case on top of that," Derek sighed. "I'm not sure we're completely safe."

"Derek, you have to trust me. I'm going to keep you safe."

* * *

He hadn't always been this way. Jordan could remember a time when he might have thought that what he did at Peter's orders was simply wrong. Certainly he began having sex for money as a survival tactic.

Jordan remembered so vividly the fear he felt the first time he'd gotten into a stranger's car with the knowledge that the man driving was going to have sex with him and then give him money for it.

He'd never had sex with a man before. He'd never considered himself even remotely bisexual. But never before then had he been homeless and destitute. He was a strong person. Certainly he could take a little oral and anal sex.

It was supposed to be a one-time hookup and he'd get a couple hundred out of it. He was already picturing the burger he was going to buy with that money and his mouth was watering. The man made him give a blowjob as they drove down the highway. He'd never done that before, either. The man hadn't showered that day, it was perfectly clear. He gagged a bit, too, as the cock reached the back of his throat. Suddenly he felt bad for how much he'd begged his last girlfriend to do this to him.

She'd broken up with him when he was diagnosed with cancer. He'd wanted to kill her. However, the removal of one of his testicles and the placement of an implant proved to be sufficient for him to live a healthy life. That and a lot of chemo. He'd never been so sick in his life and he hated those drugs every time they started filtering into his bloodstream, but they were going to save his life. Instead, he focused on his girlfriend who left him.

He'd started high school healthy and cancer free, with his hair growing back well. He remembered shoving past her in the hallway as his anger boiled up inside, waiting to explode like a bomb. As a form of retaliation, she let slip to the whole school that he and Lance Armstrong had something in common.

He was mortified, both at the fact that a human being could do something like that, but also at the fact that nobody took into account that he survived cancer and was now healthy. They bullied him. They beat him up and shoved his face into toilets. He was bullied until he could see no other way out. He had to leave.

In the middle of the night, he'd climbed out his bedroom window and never once looked back. Unfortunately, he hadn't planned too far ahead. He'd only been focused on not enduring yet another ass-kicking.

His first encounter as a prostitute did not go well. He never received payment for the services he rendered and the man decided that a boy as good looking as he was would be a great "houseboy." That was the term he used because "slave" was so vulgar, despite being a more accurate representation. Jordan was, for the first two weeks, kept naked and chained. The man would make him perform oral sex until his throat hurt and his face was covered in saliva and semen. Surprisingly, though, he never fucked Jordan. He'd simply slap the boy's bare ass and say "I have plans for this."

Jordan feared what that meant. And for good reason. It was the first time he was out of the bedroom. The man—Jordan still didn't know his name—brought him into the shower and made him clean himself, inside and out. He then tied a rope around Jordan's neck and led him to the garage, where a group of men were standing around. Some of them whistled, but those who weren't already naked quickly fixed that.

"As promised, gentlemen, I told you this one was a beauty. Fantastic at sucking cock… but we both know the hole that really counts. He's 15 and a virgin. Now as I stated before, I'm not selling him tonight, just his cherry. Highest bidder gets an hour with him, then the rest of you can have as many turns as you'd like for a $500 fee," the man announced.

Jordan screamed for help, but that just seemed to turn the men on and result in him getting an open-mouth gag put in his mouth, keeping him from lashing out again. Jordan stood in horror as men bid on the chance to be the first man to fuck him. In the end, his virginity went for $3245.

The man yanked the rope leading him into a bedroom Jordan had not yet seen. The bed was fitted with restraints for Jordan's arms and legs and the man wrestled him into it before lubricating him and leaving the room. It was a few moments until the guy who won the auction entered. Tears stained Jordan's face as he felt the man climb onto the bed.

* * *

A knock on the doorframe woke Stiles. He'd never slept in the bed in his room before. He'd always shared Derek's bed. His stomach grumbled. Derek was framed with light from the hallway. "Stiles, we need to talk about earlier."

Anger flared once more, filling his mouth with an acrid taste as he sat up. "Fine… I'll pack."

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"You're kicking me out, right?"

Derek quickly traversed the space to the boy's bed. "We just had an argument. Couples argue from time to time, but it's important that we discuss the problem. Am I happy that you do what you do?" he asked rhetorically. "No, I hate the idea of other men touching you because they don't love you like I love you and to them, you really are a whore. I've never seen you like that and I still don't."

Stiles had a still defiant look on his face as he listened. "But the way you treat me…"

"I give you space because I understand that what you do can be difficult on you physically, emotionally, and mentally. I didn't want to be just another guy grabbing at you. I never meant to make you feel so bad about yourself, Stiles. I'm very, very sorry," said Derek.

Stiles' gaze softened. "You really _do_ love me, don't you?"

Derek smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I do."

"I'm sorry I assumed the worst about you," replied Stiles.

"You're still not used to people being selfless around you. Just, in the future, try to give me the benefit of the doubt, will you?"

"Alright," Stiles said. He leaned over and kissed Derek lightly on the lips, but Derek's hand came up, holding Stiles' head and deepened the kiss. "We just had our first fight," Stiles noted after the kiss broke.

"Do you know what that means?" Derek grinned.

"We have our first make-up sex!" Stiles replied happily.

"Fuck yeah we do!"

* * *

The day Jordan was sold was a new low in his life. He had gone from being a person to being property. After a moment of reflection, he realized that he had been property from the second he got into that car. He prepared himself to hate this man. It wasn't hard. These past six months had trained him to hate.

Jordan had never hated anyone before, except that girlfriend. Compared to what these men had done to him for six months, he didn't think it would be difficult at all to hate someone who was willing to _purchase_ another human being.

He knew better than to run when the manacles were unfastened. He'd barely survived that beating. He'd accept his fate and his new owner with as much dignity as being a sex slave could possibly warrant. The man bent him across the bed and fucked him one last, good time before handing him some ill-fitting clothes and telling him to get dressed. He was then blindfolded and handcuffed before being placed in the trunk of the car.

The car ride seemed to take hours. When he was finally let out of the trunk, the blindfold was taken off and he saw that it was after dark. It had been just past noon when they'd left. He was brought in through a back entrance and finally got to see the next man who would own him. He saw as the cash changed hands and his previous owner released the handcuffs and left without even giving him a final glance. Jordan forced himself not to cry. He wouldn't let this man see him cry.

His new owner was shirtless, wearing a pair of jeans that did nothing to hide his large dick and well-formed ass. He was well-built. Jordan had begun to appreciate the male form in a way he hadn't before this ordeal. It was easier to handle the sexy men than the obese ones, but he'd been fucked by them all—not that he'd had a choice. "I'm so sorry about the unpleasantness of that transaction. I can't imagine how terrible it must be to see someone pay for you."

"I'm used to it," Jordan replied coldly.

"Then I'm sorry to hear that," the man sighed. "My name is Peter. What's yours?"

"J-Jordan, sir," he replied. "But you can change it if you want. My previous owner never used my name."

"I don't own you, Jordan," Peter replied. "I bought you your freedom."

"Really?" Jordan asked, not daring to hope that it was true.

"Yeah," Peter said. "It's what I do. When I see perverts like that trying to peddle innocent boys' flesh like that… it makes me borderline homicidal. I come from a wealthy family. I use that wealth to help make sure that I can help as many boys like you as I possibly can." There was something about the man's blue eyes that captivated Jordan. "I know you ran away… you and I just met so I won't ask you about it. If you care to tell me, then I'll listen. But if you want to go back, I'll buy you a ticket on the very next train. If you'd rather not, you can stay here."

"I don't know what to say," Jordan replied. "Thank you. Thank you so much." He had almost given up on humankind. And then Peter happened. Unable to express his gratitude in words, Jordan slowly removed his clothes and expressed it the only other way he knew how. It was the first time he'd ever wanted to have sex.

Peter was a gentle and attentive lover that first time. He was careful and considerate. He refused to allow himself to finish before Jordan had. It wasn't long until he believed he was Peter's boyfriend. He didn't care about the age difference. Peter had given him his freedom and he loved the man.

He loved Peter so wholly that he never noticed the subtle changes that happened. He trusted Peter so completely that the first time Peter asked him to have sex with someone else, he did it with no questions asked because it had been Peter who'd asked him to.

* * *

As Deucalion untied Stiles from the intricately woven ropes that had kept him immobilized, Stiles summoned the courage to say what was on his mind. Derek was clearly uncomfortable with what Stiles was doing, and to be honest, so was he. He didn't like having men fuck him, even if they were nicer than the ones who visited him at Peter's.

He had a chance at something real with Derek. He had a chance to build a life with a man who loved every bit of him, despite the cornucopia of reasons not to. Derek knew every deep, dark, terrible thing about him and somehow, managed to love him even more for it. The more he opened himself up to it, the more he realized that the idea of a life without Derek was too terrible to fathom. He belonged to Derek—heart, body, and soul—and he didn't even know when it happened, but he knew he was glad it did.

As he pulled on the last article of his clothing he sighed. "I can't come back," he said softly, fearful of Deucalion's reaction.

Deucalion was still naked, now reclined on his bed, still panting from his exertion. "Is this Derek's decision or is it yours?"

"It's mine," Stiles replied. "I love Derek. I can't continue to watch how much this hurts him. It's time I show him the same level of devotion that he shows me."

To Stiles' surprise, Deucalion simply nodded. "I can respect that. I must say that I'll miss training you, though."

"You're not mad?" Stiles asked, clearly shocked.

"I can't say that I'm not disappointed," Deucalion admitted. "However I can't blame you. I also can't force you to stay. I told you I'm different than Peter Hale. I've also already told the detective everything of consequence that I know. I wish you the best, Stiles. If you ever wish to come back, I'd be more than happy to have you."

"Uh… thanks, sir?" Stiles said, not expecting this reaction, but grateful of this nonetheless. He headed outside, where Derek was waiting. He was nearly vibrating with anticipation, he was so excited to tell Derek the news.

* * *

The FBI was as intimidating entity, especially the way in which they swept into Derek's mansion, which they tried to use as a base of command until Derek outright forbade it.

"Agent Rafael McCall," the man said, flashing his badge at the door.

"Dad?" Scott asked from behind them. "You're the lead investigator on this case?"

"Hello son," Rafael said with no hint of warmth in his voice. Stiles didn't need a degree in psychology to know there were some deeply buried issues there. "I wasn't aware you were consulting on this case."

"I only just joined in," Scott replied. "But I guess now I need to recuse myself."

Rafael's raptor gaze honed in on Stiles. "So you must be the prostitute."

Stiles' fist clenched and he felt his cheeks and ears redden. "Former. Prostitute. Read your case files."

Rafael's tone became acidic venom. "Can you really count earlier this week as being considered 'former'?"

"You're going to watch how you speak to him," Derek cautioned.

Rafael seemed to find humor in this. "Am I?" he asked wryly.

"If you had bothered to read the case files we sent over to you, you'd know that Stiles was targeted as a child and victimized. He has helped us in our investigation at great personal risk. He was nearly killed in an attempt to keep him from cooperating with us. Perhaps you should hold a little more decorum in dealing with your key witness," Chris snapped.

"I need to interview him," Rafael said, boredom dripping from his voice.

"Not without a lawyer present," said a severe-looking woman with long, wavy brown hair.

"And who the fuck are you?" Rafael demanded, not bothering to turn around to see who it was. He was quickly losing his patience.

"My name is Melissa McCall," she said, taking a stand beside Stiles. "And I will be representing Mr. Stilinski." Immediately Rafael paled.

"McCall… as in…" Derek asked, narrowing his eyes and pointing between the woman and the agent.

"Ex-wife," he explained. "It was amicable."

"No it wasn't," Melissa replied. She turned back to the FBI agent. "And before you start bulldozing over my client's constitutional rights, I'd like a word with him alone."

"What if he says something integral to our investigation?" Rafael asked.

"I swear to God if you make me explain to you the meaning of the phrase ' _attorney-client privilege_ ' I will wrap this investigation with so much paperwork, you'll end up with carpal tunnel… assuming you haven't already given it to yourself," Melissa replied, making a pointed look down at the agent's crotch before her eyes went back up. "Now get out until I tell you that you can come back in."

Agent McCall left, bringing Chris out of the room with him.

Scott came back into the room, and hugged his mother tightly. Suddenly the fearsome persona she had been putting on for her ex-husband's sake faded away. "Hey kiddo," she said, embracing him tightly. She introduced herself to Derek and Stiles with a firm handshake. "Scott called me as soon as he saw that his dad was the lead investigator. My ex has a history of making cases like this end up badly for the victims involved. Don't worry, Stiles I have loads of case law and precedent to ensure that neither you nor Mr. Hale suffer in any way. I understand the situation between you two is… complicated?"

"I met him while visiting the brothel," Derek admitted. "But Stiles and Chris came up with the idea that if it comes up, I was undercover with him. Stiles was my informant and we fell in love as the sting went on. It isn't too terribly far from the truth."

Melissa nodded. "Of course, I can't advise you to lie under oath or in any way perjure yourself."

There was some minor chit-chat before Melissa finally invited Agent McCall back into the room and ushered everyone else out. She sat beside Stiles on the couch, reclined and comfortable. She knew every single one of Rafael McCall's intimidation tactics because she endured them all throughout her marriage.

"How long have you been a whore?" Rafael began his interrogation.

Stiles felt the rage boil up in his system. "How long have you been a fucking asshole?"

"A lot longer than you've been alive, sweetheart," Melissa whispered just loud enough for her ex to hear, then addressed him, giving him a comforting tap on his knee. "You will not treat my client in that manner. Keep this up and I'll be on the phone with the district director and we'll have a new lead investigator on this case."

"Playing hardball, Melissa?"

Melissa smiled pleasantly. "One of us had to have balls, Rafe."

* * *

Jordan spent most nights in Peter's bed. He loved it. He loved the feel of Peter's strong body next to him. He went back to his own room on the nights when Peter trained the other boys. Sometimes he was allowed to participate. The other boys didn't appreciate it as much as he did, but it didn't matter.

Tonight there was a pale boy named Corey. He was a new addition. Jordan figured he looked a bit like Stiles, but Liam had already taken over the BDSM clients.

"I thought you would help me break this one in," Peter whispered into Jordan's ear as Corey stood naked at the foot of the bed. "He says he's a virgin."

"I wasn't aware this was going to be a threesome," Corey said cautiously.

"Plans change," Peter replied, completely uninterested in what the boy was or wasn't exactly aware of. It was of no importance to him. He personally vetted the merchandise. Jordan was his right-hand, it was time he learned to do it, too.

The fact of the matter was there wasn't going to be any sex going on that night. Peter Hale did not suffer spies to live.

* * *

The word "exhausted" simply fell short. Stiles imagined a new word entirely would need to be invented to describe how he felt. Sitting in a room answering Agent McCall's questions led to him being so frustrated that as soon as he got home, he worked out his frustrations in the home gym. Derek joined him, and before long the two of them were so turned on by each other's workout routine that they ended up having hours of hot sex.

After, they simply spoke. "I hate that man," Stiles said. "I don't care if he's Scott's dad. He's a fucking asshole."

"That's why Scott brought in Melissa. We aren't going to let anything happen to you," Derek vowed.

After a few more moments of silence, Stiles spoke again. "Have you ever thought about what happens after all of this goes public? Even with the cover story of you being there to help investigate, the newspapers and stuff are going to have a field day with the fact that the famous Derek Hale is dating a whore."

Derek pursed his lips. "I'm not dating a whore. I'm dating a thoughtful, intelligent, sexy, wonderful young man whom I love. And anyone who has a problem with it can fuck right off."

"I can't let you throw away a career you've worked a lifetime for over me," Stiles said meekly. The next words required more effort. They got stuck in his throat along the way. "I love you too much."

Derek regarded Stiles with piteous eyes. "You've never been loved by someone. Real love is the kind of thing that you don't just give up because the alternative is inconvenient… or even painful. When you truly love someone, you never give up on them, least of all for something as petty as fame or fortune."

"Does it also mean not wanting someone to get hurt because you don't believe that you're worth it?" Stiles asked.

"After everything we've been through… how can you still believe that you aren't worth it?"

Stiles shrugged. "You have so much more to lose than I do."

"And I'd give it all up several times over if it meant you'd be whole again and the man who is responsible for both our suffering can never do it again," Derek said.

* * *

Corey's creamy skin shuddered as the cool air bit into it. Jordan watched warily as Peter circled the boy. He had never seen Peter like this. Peter looked like a wolf who had cornered his prey. Something was wrong.

"Why are you here?" Peter asked.

"I want to work for you," Corey replied through a trembling voice. He, too, was scared. Although he was the only one in the room with a reason to be.

Peter hoisted the ropes up, hanging Corey from the ceiling by his wrists. Peter reared back and delivered a powerful blow straight to the boy's gut. Corey made an almost inhuman noise of pain. Jordan looked away. "Who do you work for, Corey? The longer you lie, the worse you're going to make it for yourself."

"Peter stop…" Jordan whispered. "He's just a boy."

"Now is not the time for you to get high-and-mighty, Jordan. Tonight is the night you prove to me that you really are my best boy," Peter snarled. Jordan's stomach twisted. He turned back to Corey and delivered three rapid blows in succession. One of the boy's ribs cracked with a loud, gruesome pop. Corey screamed out.

"I'm an informant for the police," he cried. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry… please stop!"

Peter nodded. "Thank you for your honesty, Corey." His voice was still lethal. "Now how do you suppose we rectify this?"

Corey was still sobbing from pain. "I don't know…"

"When you find you have a rat problem, typically you hire an exterminator. I, however, don't like outsourcing my jobs," Peter said flatly. "I'd much rather ensure that the problem has been taken care of."

"Peter… you can't seriously mean you're going to kill him," Jordan interjected.

"Oh, Jordan," Peter sighed. "That's exactly what I mean."

Corey sobbed ever harder. He didn't want to die. He stared helplessly as Peter reached for a knife and brought it to his face. The blade was cold and sharp as it cut into his cheek. Peter made six deliberate slices, three on each cheek. Warm blood oozed thickly down the boy's face, dripping onto his body and the floor below.

Though the blood obscured it, Jordan was certain of what Peter had done: he'd given the rat whiskers. He had stood by Peter, watching him do things that were unspeakable, telling himself that he had been doing it out of love. He had rationalized away every terrible thing Peter had done because he'd seen Peter differently. He thought Peter had treated _him_ differently. That image of the world was shattering around him, the pieces of it dropping like Corey's blood on the floor below. "Peter this is too far. You've scared the shit out of him and you've taught him a lesson he won't forget. Please… just let him go."

"Are you getting weak, Jordan?" Peter demanded. "Do you forget what we've been through?"

Peter shook his head, fighting tears of fear and frustration. "No. I don't forget it. I just see it for what it really was. Peter… if you do this… if you kill this boy, then you really _are_ the monster Stiles says you are. Prove him wrong. Show me that he's wrong. Let this kid go."

"You're going to abandon me too, aren't you?" Peter asked, keeping the tip of his knife pressed to Corey's chest.

"Not if you do the right thing, Peter," Jordan begged. "Do it for me, please…"

"I can't," Peter said firmly, pushing the knife into the boy's chest, straight into his heart. Blood began gurgling up from his mouth, spilling over his lips as he did. Corey struggled for a few moments as blood filled his lungs and he began to choke on it, gasping as he fought for the last vestiges of life. He looked pleadingly at Jordan who stood there dumbfounded and shocked. His heart was breaking for the boy dying before his eyes. He knew he could do nothing to save him.

"Why?" Jordan demanded hoarsely after the lights of life finally fled from the boy's terrified eyes. Tears streamed down his face. "He didn't have to die for this, Peter. Stiles was right. I can't believe it took me this long to see it."

"Stiles was a rat, too. If I find him, he will suffer far more than this pathetic shit-stain did," Peter spat. "I made a mistake outsourcing my attempt to deal with him last time. I have to say though, Jordan. Of all the boys… you're the biggest disappointment."

Those words cut through him more effectively than the knife ever could. "Because I draw a line at murder?"

"Because you've proven I can't trust you," Peter said. "So disappointing."

"I'm sorry Peter… under no circumstances can I condone killing," Jordan sobbed.

"Maybe my mistake was not keeping you as a slave. Your freedom has made you bold… it's made you forget what you owe me," Peter growled.

Jordan shook his head. "You're wrong," he whispered. "I've never forgotten. I could never forget something like that. I love you, Peter. I've always thought that if I trust you, it would be alright. I helped you keep the other boys in line… but I never thought you would be capable of something this evil."

* * *

Alternative rock filled the kitchen. Derek stood behind Stiles, guiding him in how to prepare the meal. "Alright you're going to add a little bit of this…" he said, pointing to a small canister of spices that Stiles couldn't identify. Gingerly, Stiles sprinkled them into the concoction.

"How do you know that's enough?" Stiles asked.

Derek shrugged. "I've been cooking for long enough to just be able to eyeball it, really. With enough practice, you'll get to that point."

"I'm not sure that after this, you'll have me cooking again. You might wanna make sure that we have pizza ready just in case," he said through restrained laughter.

"It's going to be fine, Stiles," Derek assured him. "It smells great. Now we're going to sauté the chicken with the pesto."

"Which one's the sauté?" Stiles asked.

Derek choked back a laugh in an attempt to ensure that he remained a source of positivity for his boyfriend. "Sautéing is a method of cooking. Here…" he helped Stiles scoop their home-made pesto into the pan and, with a wooden spoon, tossed the chicken in the sauce. "It's all in the wrist," Derek instructed.

An alarm went off, causing Stiles to jump. "What the fuck was that?" he asked, his pulse skyrocketing.

Chuckling, Derek put a relaxing hand on Stiles' back. "Relax, babe… that was just the alarm letting us know the rice cooker was done."

"Oh…" Stiles said, before giggling slightly at his own jumpiness. Derek reached into a cabinet and brought out two plates before heaping rice on to both of them. He then delicately and precisely laid the chicken breasts atop the rice beds. The dishes looked as though they came out of a five-star restaurant's kitchen.

"Bring these to the table. I'm going to mix us up some drinks." Derek moved into the lounge where he kept his fully-stocked bar. Stiles heard the clink of ice being dropped into the glasses as he waited patiently for Derek to join him. The food looked and smelled amazing, yet he was certain that since he cooked it, there had to be something fundamentally wrong with it.

Derek set the glass down. It smelled strong. "What is it?" Stiles asked.

"Gin and tonic. It's one of my favorites. It's a balanced cocktail that should pair well with the food," he replied.

"You never let me drink…" Stiles said skeptically.

Derek shrugged. "Well, I figured that in the comfort of our own house, we can have a drink or two. It's not like you'll turn into a pumpkin or anything just because you aren't 21 just yet."

Stiles took a small, cautious sip of the beverage. It was strong, sending a jolt through his body. The second sip, however, produced more flavor. "That's really good!"

Derek had already begun digging into the food. He chewed contemplatively. "So is the food!" he said after swallowing. "I think that next time we use that recipe for pesto we should add a bit more pine nut… but this is absolutely fantastic!"

They ate in silence, Stiles pleasantly surprised by how good the food actually was. He was about halfway through the gin and tonic when his head began to swim.

Both men were startled by the sound of the doorbell. "If this is Agent McCall, I'm going to rip out his throat," Derek growled.

Stiles followed Derek to the front door, ready to formulate some sarcastic response to the agent's presence. Instead, when he saw who was standing there, his jaw dropped.

Jordan was covered in blood, shivering in the cold with Isaac huddled closely beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed learning Jordan's backstory. Please let me know what you thought about the chapter!


	10. Daddy's Little Defect

Neither Isaac nor Stiles had ever seen this side of Jordan. He was fiercely protective. Once he had showered the blood off and was in clean clothing, he recounted the story of what Peter had done to the poor boy. Until that point Isaac was unaware of the reason why he'd been roused from his sleep with Jordan throwing clothes at him telling him to hurry.

Jordan had kept his arm protectively around the younger boy the entire way. Realizing they didn't have any money, Jordan gave a few blowjobs in exchange for cab fare to the part of the city he suspected someone as wealthy as Derek Hale might live. When the men whom he'd blown had asked for a shot at Isaac, Jordan had grown angry, further surprising the younger boy.

Stiles wasn't fully convinced of Jordan's intention. "How do we know you're not just trying to get information for Peter?"

Jordan sighed. "I know I've never given you a reason to trust me. I've done terrible things… to both of you. I don't deserve your forgiveness, so I won't ask for it. I just want you to know how sorry I am. Peter had my mind so completely warped I thought I was doing the right thing. I never thought he'd kill someone. I begged him not to." Jordan broke down into sobs. Isaac comforted him. Jordan went on to tell them about how Danny and Jackson had escaped weeks before, stealing some of Peter's money in the process. Jordan pledged his help in any way he could provide it to ensure that Peter finally paid for his crimes.

"If you're serious and you genuinely want to help, then you're welcome to stay," Derek told him. "But if you do anything to harm Stiles or Isaac, I'll have you arrested after I beat you bloody."

Jordan nodded his understanding and Derek showed them to their rooms, instructing Isaac to alert him immediately if Jordan tried to force him to do anything against his will. Isaac reticently agreed before closing his door behind him.

Stiles and Derek made their way to their own bedroom before talking. "Do you think he's being genuine?" Derek asked once the door was closed.

Stiles shrugged. "He's always been so difficult to read. It's impossible to be sure… but I've never seen him so upset. I think we should have Chris and Rafael talk to him."

"I'll text Chris first thing in the morning," Derek sighed, pulling off his shirt and jeans, tossing them in the hamper.

Stiles stripped completely. He hated wearing clothes of any sort to bed. He loved the way Derek's body felt against his. "I'm glad my brothers are safe. Now to just take care of Peter," Stiles said, pulling back the covers and sliding into the warm bed. "Too bad the mood sorta got ruined."

Derek pulled Stiles tightly against him. "We have every night of the rest of our lives to have the mood just right."

Stiles was caught off guard by that. He wondered if Derek actually meant it. "Are you saying you want to be with me for the rest of our lives?"

As if in answer, Derek kissed Stiles passionately. When their lips finally parted, Derek's husky voice said, "I'm saying that I can't imagine a life without you by my side, Stiles. When all of this is done and behind us, I want us to seriously talk about our future together…"

Stiles smiled, feeling as if he was glowing more brightly than the sun. "Did you just kind-of, sort-of pre-propose to me?"

Derek shook his head, smiling back. "Stiles, will you possibly, maybe, at some point in the future discuss the idea of marrying me?" he said. "Now I've just kind-of, sort-of pre-proposed."

"Then I might later on consider saying yes… perhaps."

* * *

There was something distinctly reminiscent of Spring in the air the next morning. The air was a bit warmer and the snow was starting to melt, leaving behind mud and muck. Stiles had always loved Spring. Perhaps it was the fact that he was distinctly remembering the conversation that had passed between him and Derek the night before.

Derek had gotten up extra early to make breakfast for everyone. Scott had come over, too, wanting to know how his father was helping with the investigation. When Isaac came into the kitchen wearing just a pair of pajama bottoms he froze at the sight of Scott, turning a shade of red that Stiles had never seen on him.

"Good morning, Isaac!" Derek greeted warmly. "How do you take your eggs?"

His eyes never leaving Scott, Isaac opened his mouth and out poured a stream of nonsense sounds that nobody in the room could make out. He then hid his now-crimson face with his hands and ran from the room, nearly knocking over Jordan who was sporting only a jockstrap. "What the hell happened to him?"

Stiles and Derek shrugged. Stiles was staring vacantly into the space where Isaac had been. Derek made the introductions as Stiles excused himself and followed Isaac to his room, where he was lying face-down on his bed, burying his head in under his pillow.

"Isaac?" Stiles said cautiously, cracking the door open. "Are you alright? Were you having some kind of stroke back there?"

"Who was that guy in the kitchen?" Isaac asked in a muffled voice.

"That's mine and Derek's friend, Scott," he replied, entering the room and sitting on the bed beside his friend. "His dad is the FBI agent investigating Peter and his mom is our lawyer… the two of them don't really get along… mostly because his dad is a grade-A douchebag."

"He probably thinks I'm an idiot now. I can't believe I embarrassed myself like that," Isaac groaned, finally peeking his head out from under the pillow.

"I'm sure he doesn't," Stiles replied soothingly. "Scott is an incredible guy. He's become my best friend."

Isaac looked wounded by that statement. "I used to be your best friend."

Stiles sighed. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know you didn't," Isaac admitted. "It doesn't mean that it hurts any less." The silence that built in the room became suffocating as Isaac summoned the courage to say the words he had never said before, but knew he needed to say now. "I love you, Stiles. I've loved you for so long and I don't think I can do it anymore."

Tears welled up in Stiles' eyes as he heard Isaac's voice crack. "I love you too, Isaac."

He shook his head, finishing Stiles' sentence. "But not like that."

"No," Stiles finally said. "Not like that. I love Derek. It took me a very long time to be able to admit it to myself, let alone to him."

Stiles waited a moment to allow Isaac to process what had been said. He watched as understanding dawned on his friend's face, followed by disappointment, and then sadness. Stiles' heart broke for Isaac, but nothing could compare to the heartbreak Isaac felt in that moment. The sadness built until, so suddenly that it startled Stiles, it hardened into a steely, blank expression. Isaac looked as cold and dead inside as a marble statue. Stiles felt guilty for every time he had slept with Isaac, realizing now that it had meant so much more to the other boy than the mere need to find comfort and pleasure in another's arms. It had given him hope that there might be a future between them.

If Derek hadn't come into the picture, there likely would have been. Stiles held a tremendous amount of affection for Isaac, but in comparison to the sheer magnitude of his love for Derek, it seemed almost trivial. Derek had captivated every part of his heart and Stiles couldn't bring himself to apologize for their love. He couldn't permit himself to invalidate that which he held so sacred in a few short words. Instead, he reached out, offering a comforting hand.

It seemed to stir something in Isaac. "Can you put in a word for me with Scott?"

He knew that Isaac was trying to change the subject to anything less painful than the rejection. To be honest, Stiles was thankful, even if it made him feel guiltier. "I can talk to him. I'm not sure if he's into men… we've never really discussed it. But I can definitely see what I can do for you."

Isaac mechanically nodded. Derek appeared in the doorway, his vivid green eyes focused on Stiles. "Breakfast is getting cold," he said softly. "Is everything alright?"

Stiles had no idea how long he had been listening or how much he had heard. He made a mental note to discuss it with him later. "I'll be right there," he said just as Isaac responded, "Everything's fine."

Everything obviously wasn't fine, but Derek didn't push the issue. Instead, he disappeared and Stiles heard his footsteps echoing down the hall as he rejoined the others in the kitchen.

"Are we alright?" Stiles asked softly after a moment had passed.

Isaac stood up. "It's fine," he replied vacantly. Stiles knew he was lying, but he didn't know what else to say, so he remained silent and followed Isaac back out into the kitchen.

* * *

His father hadn't always been like this. He hadn't always been angry and prone to outbursts. Isaac rationalized it by reminding himself that his dad was grieving too. His older brother had died in Iraq. His mom had died shortly after. She had just given up on life.

And it wasn't like Isaac didn't deserve to be the object of anger. His grades were slipping and he was behind on his chores. He dabbed concealer on the large, ugly bruise that seemed to cover his face each day before school. He'd learned how to apply it from a friend. If his teachers saw it, they'd say something and Isaac didn't need to add any extra stress to his dad's life.

They sat eating dinner in tense silence. "How are your grades?" his dad asked.

The pit in Isaac's stomach grew. He had been dreading this question. "I made an A in French," he said, hoping it would appease his dad, but knowing deep inside that it wouldn't.

"What about math?" his dad asked in a voice so cold Isaac shivered upon hearing it.

"I still have the midterm, which should let me bring it up…" Isaac started, trying to frame the bad news in the best possible light he could.

"What. Is. Your. Grade?" his father demanded.

"It's a C," Isaac replied softly.

"That's average," his dad replied, seeming to lighten up. "Like you said, you have time to bring it up."

Every muscle in Isaac's body had been coiled tight like a spring, but they relaxed as he saw his father's reaction. He had been far more understanding than Isaac ever anticipated. He watched as his dad took a sip of his water from the glass. After swallowing, he let the glass drop from his hand. It shattered on the floor, sending ice, water, and glass fragments everywhere. Isaac jumped, moving back, stumbling over his chair, which went flying. "Dad, I'm sorry!" he cried.

"I'm well aware of just how sorry you are," his dad roared back. "About as sorry I am that I made you!"

The table went flying over, sending food, plates, and forks into the air, crashing into the floor as well. Isaac huddled into the corner, terrified. "Dad, please stop…" he begged.

"I think you need to reflect on what a failure you are," his father growled, approaching him with malicious intent.

Isaac was fairly certain he knew what that meant and he began to shake in terror. "Dad please don't! I'm begging you!"

"And I'm begging you to make something of yourself. We're both disappointed. Get on your feet!"

Isaac knew better than to make him ask for it again. Trembling, he rose to his feet and flinched again as his father's hand reached forward, grabbing him by the neck, pulling him toward the basement. He resisted as much as he dared until he saw the large freezer chest in the center of the floor. It wasn't plugged in to anything. There were holes drilled into the top, and fitted with a padlock. Isaac fought with everything he had until his father forced him in and held the door shut as he latched the padlock. He banged the top of the freezer menacingly as Isaac fruitlessly struggled to get out.

He hated this punishment worst of all. He hated the way time became meaningless and the silence became so absolute he could hear his pulse thunder and his organs work. He hated the way his muscles cramped, unable to stretch out in the confined place. He hated tight places. He wished that one of these days, his father would just kill him in one of his rages so he wouldn't have to fear living anymore.

* * *

"What the fuck did you do to him?" Jordan demanded, finding Stiles outside, reading his schoolbooks on a bench. He was wearing clothes, which was a strange sight. Stiles was so used to him being naked, with only a jockstrap to cover him in the rare instances he was wearing anything at all.

"What are you talking about, Jordan?" Stiles asked, sighing.

"Isaac. What did you do to him?"

"He and I just talked…" Stiles closed his book, using his finger to hold his place. "What's wrong? What happened to him?"

"You tell me?" Jordan said, becoming instantly combative. "He was fine until you spoke to him this morning."

"I told him that I'm in love with Derek… that I can't love him the way he wants me to," Stiles admitted.

"You tore his heart out," Jordan said. "You crushed him. You know… he never fought back with me and Peter… he let it happen. Did you ever ask him why?"

"Because you and Peter liked it when we fought back. It turned you on to know we didn't want you," Stiles voice was venomous. "What you did to us was worse than what Peter did because we thought you were our brother and we thought you would protect us but you victimized us more because of that trust."

In one go, Stiles' words had completely defeated Jordan. "I'm sorry, Stiles. I don't deserve your forgiveness… But being around Peter for as long as I was… it makes you think differently. Suddenly right and wrong are turned on their heads and morality doesn't mean what it used to mean. There's only him and what he wants you to do. I'm not trying to make excuses, but I _am_ trying to make up for what I did."

"Then how dare you judge me for standing up for my love?" Stiles was now fuming.

"Did you even apologize to him?"

"Why should I apologize for being in love? I did my best to let him down easily… but I will not say that I'm sorry I fell in love with Derek because I'm _not_ sorry," Stiles seethed.

"What's going on out here?" Derek asked, joining them on the back deck. "I heard shouting."

"Everything's fine," Stiles lied, his eyes boring holes into Jordan. "Jordan was just about to go back inside."

"You've changed, Stiles…" Jordan said softly as he turned around.

"Yeah," Stiles replied. "I've stopped bending over and taking it." Jordan reddened at that statement, unable to think of anything to say in return. If Derek hadn't been there, he might have come to blows. He wouldn't risk that, though. Instead, he pushed past Derek, going back inside.

Derek waited until he was alone with Stiles before finding a seat next to him. The air was still chilly, despite the freshness of spring permeating everything. "What was that about?"

Stiles sighed. He didn't particularly want to talk about it, but he couldn't keep it from Derek. "Isaac told me he loved me today," he said. "And I told him that I love him, too. I just don't love him in the same way that you and I love each other."

Derek smiled in a sad sort of way that Stiles didn't quite understand. "You've loved him longer and you've known him longer. If I'm the thing standing in the way of you two, I'll step aside, Stiles. I would understand. He's a lot closer to you in age and you two have a lot more in common than you and I do."

Stiles' nostrils flared. He slammed his book down onto the deck, not caring now that he'd lost his page. He opened his mouth, trying to speak on four separate occasions, each time finding that through his rage, he couldn't quite articulate what he wanted to say. This left him further frustrated. "I will not apologize for who I love," he said after a few moments of tense silence passed between them.

"I'm not asking you to," Derek affirmed. "I'm simply letting you know that it's okay to choose him." Loving someone as deeply and terribly as he loved Stiles meant that he might need to let that person go. It would destroy him to do so. He wouldn't kick Stiles out. Instead, he would watch the two of them be happy and in love together and, like an old tree, die more and more on the inside, leaving the outside whole and fresh-looking. He'd do it and he'd suffer for Stiles, if that would make the boy happy. He'd die the death of a thousand little cuts, craving each day the merciful blow of a severed artery, knowing he'd only ever nick capillaries. The pain would be more intense for its repetition. A scar like that would never heal, he knew.

Derek had always believed that in life, there is one great opportunity for love. Each time love happened, it seemed like that opportunity has finally presented itself. Only after that love is dead does one ever realize that it wasn't the one. On to the next one, each person goes, flitting from great love to great love like a bee pollinating during springtime. Yet Derek knew without a shadow of a doubt that for him, Stiles _was_ his great love. If this didn't work out, there was nothing for him in the future. He loved Stiles so much that it would suffice to be in his presence and see him happy. It would be unending torture—pain beyond anything ever imagined in this life or the next. Paradoxically, the pain would be how he'd confirm it in his mind. The more the idea of letting him go and be with someone else hurt, the more he knew it would be the right thing to do if it came down to that.

"No," Stiles growled defiantly. "I choose my Dom. I choose Derek Hale. I chose you yesterday. I choose you today, and I will choose you tomorrow… and the day after tomorrow. And the day after that. I haven't gotten to choose a whole fucking lot in my life. But you are the one thing that I can choose. I will choose you again and again because I love you. How many more times do I need to say it before my point has been made clear?"

Derek didn't know when he began to smile, but now he was grinning ear to ear. "You feel that strongly?"

His increased pulse had meant that he was breathing harder than normal. His breath made fog in the cool air. "Yes, as a matter of fact I do."

Derek stood, moving like lightning to be inches from Stiles. His lips crushed against Stiles' in a desperate expression of the sheer joy of having been chosen. "The dungeon is too clean for what I want to do to you," he whispered throatily when the kiss finally broke.

* * *

The dim light of the basement was as bright as the sun to Isaac's eyes, which had become accustomed to pitch blackness. "Have you learned your lesson?" his father demanded.

"Yes sir," Isaac whimpered.

"You need to clean that mess you left in the kitchen," he barked.

Isaac had no idea how much time had passed. He was sure it had to be at least a day. He knew he desperately needed to use the bathroom. "Yes sir," he said obediently, averting his eyes.

He was trembling so hard that he could barely move to his feet. His joints were achy from being confined for so long. He felt tired. He was weak from thirst and hunger. The world seemed to spin around him, too bright and too much for his undernourished brain to comprehend. He was dizzy, but knew he had to keep himself together until he could get something in his system.

He struggled to make his way up the stairs behind his father. It was times like this that he wished that he had died instead of Cam. His older brother would never have been made to go through this. He was their father's pride and joy. His father would have cried for a bit if Isaac died, but he would have gotten over it. It wouldn't have changed him in the way that Cam's and his mother's death had.

Isaac ran to the bathroom first, then upon making his way to the kitchen saw that the mess from his father's temper tantrum was still there to be cleaned. The calendar told him he'd spent a day and a half in the freezer. He figured he might be able to clean up the mess, eat something and still be able to get the last couple of periods of school for the day, so he wouldn't end up too far behind.

Even in his half-delirious state Isaac saw the flaw in the logic of locking him in a freezer, forcing him to miss school as a punishment for poor academic performance. He'd never voice that opinion to his father, of course.

The peanut butter sandwich he hastily made for himself, his hands now shaking from his plummeting blood-sugar levels, was the best sandwich he had eaten in his life. He washed it down with glass after glass of cool water before turning his attention to the chaos. He was adept at cleaning up after his father's tantrums. They happened too often for him not to be.

It took surprisingly little time for him to tidy the kitchen. He took a quick shower and grabbed his backpack before heading to school. It wasn't too far of a walk. He slipped into fifth period, taking his seat in the back of the class. Nobody noticed he was there, just as nobody probably noticed he'd been absent the day before.

He took notes on biology as the teacher went on and on about the Krebs cycle. The bell rang and Isaac went to his next class. It ended all too quickly, and soon, he was walking back home. Dread built with every step he took.

His father was sitting in the living room, reclined on the couch watching TV as he entered the house. "Where the fuck have you been?"

"I went to school," Isaac replied timidly, staring at a spot on the carpet.

"Don't fucking lie to me, you piece of shit!" his father roared, jumping to his feet. "You were only gone for a few hours."

"There were only a few hours of school left by the time you let me out," Isaac whimpered, backing up slowly.

"So you're saying it's my fault that you're a failure?"

"N-no sir!" Isaac insisted. "Not at all!"

"Cam was a straight-A student. He was on two sports teams. What the fuck do you have going for you, Isaac?"

"Dad, please… I'm trying…"

"You aren't trying hard enough," he snarled coming at Isaac, who had managed to back himself into a corner.

"Please don't put me back in there," he begged. Any more time in that freezer and Isaac knew he would go insane.

"Obviously it's not working. I think I need to beat some smarts into you," he said, grabbing Isaac roughly by the arm and yanking him. It felt like his shoulder would pop out of socket with the force.

The terrified boy cried out, "Dad… you're hurting me… please stop!"

His dad led him to the kitchen, pushing him harshly against the wall. He slammed open the cupboard and began once again throwing things. Something made of glass shattered near his head and sharp pain could be felt under his eye. The warm trickle of blood told him that he'd been cut. He pulled the glass out, examining it closely. "You could have blinded me!" he said, his fear being replaced by rage.

"It was just a scratch!" his father replied callously. "Don't be so dramatic."

"You can't treat me like this," Isaac asserted, inching his way across the wall. His father came at him, a whirl of fury. Isaac instinctively reached over, grabbing a knife from the butcher block. His father's momentum was too great. He couldn't move out of the way fast enough. The knife pierced his skin, going in between his ribs, slicing muscle, veins, and lung. Warm, red blood spilled out of the wound as he looked down, just as shocked at what had transpired as Isaac was. He looked back up into his son's eyes. His glare was an accusation.

Isaac's hands were covered in his father's blood as he tried to stop it from gushing out. He knew his attempts were futile, but he continued anyway as his father sank to the ground, drowning in his own fluids. A strained rattling escaped his lips as he took his final breaths, staring up at his son in anger and disappointment.

* * *

Neither Jordan nor Isaac slept the previous night. Shortly after Stiles and Derek went to bed, Isaac crept down the hall and slipped into Jordan's bedroom. Jordan had been feverishly pumping his fist over his cock. "Do you need help?" he offered. "You'll give yourself carpal tunnel if you keep going like that…"

Jordan felt no shame at being caught doing something so personal by Isaac. After all, the two of them had done everything imaginable. "I'm used to having sex all day… I'm dying here…" Jordan admitted.

"Let me help," Isaac insisted as he climbed onto the bed and took Jordan into his mouth. He knew how much the older boy loved blowjobs.

Suddenly Jordan felt uncomfortable. He sat up. "You don't have to do that," he assured Isaac. "I still don't even know how to make it up to you for all the times I raped you… for all the times I helped Peter rape you."

Isaac pulled up off the cock, a line of spit connecting it to his lip. "I deserved it," Isaac replied with a nonchalance that took Jordan by complete surprise. Isaac climbed up further and slowly lowered his ass onto Jordan's cock, which was now nice and slick thanks to his previous efforts. Jordan let out a soft moan. He had been inside Isaac so many countless times before. It felt snug and comfortable. It was like the most pleasurable lock and key.

"No you didn't," Jordan replied softly. "What we did to you was disgusting. I should have seen it then… you don't know how much I regret it, Isaac."

Knowing exactly how to pleasure him, Isaac rode rapidly up and down as he placed a silencing finger on Jordan's lips. "You don't understand," he explained. "I deserved everything you two did to me and more. It was my punishment. I'll never be able to atone for what I did. Peter was the only one who knew about it… I made him promise never to tell you guys."

"Isaac, there's nothing you could have done that would mean you deserve to get raped… least of all the number of times it happened to you," Jordan replied. Rediscovering his moral compass had been a shock to his system, but he was now devoted to protecting his brothers and ensuring that nobody ever had a chance to harm them again. He wished he could track down Jackson and Danny. He wanted to pray for their safety, but after everything he'd been through he'd stopped believing that there was anyone who answered prayers long ago.

"I killed my father," Isaac said finally, not even missing a beat in the rhythm he'd begun in his movements.

Jordan forced him to stop and climb off of him. This wasn't the type of conversation to be held so casually, least of all while having sex. "What do you mean?"

For the first time since he met the boy, Jordan heard Isaac's story. He cried as Isaac recounted the horrid things done to him by his father. Guilt welled up in him that he had helped to further victimize a boy who had been put through something so awful, especially after what he, himself, had endured. "Peter told me he'd protect me, but he said that patricide was one of the worst of all sins. He said that the only way I could possibly wash myself of that was if I was totally devoted to a new father… to him. He said I had to start right then. He didn't wait until we got to the Wolf Den. He took me into the bathroom of that restaurant and locked the door. He made me suck him off and then bent me over the sink. He told me to look in the mirror as he did it."

"I'm so sorry, Isaac," Jordan said, holding him close and stroking his hair. For the first time since it happened, Isaac let himself cry over the situation. Years and years of grief and sadness came flooding in, almost overwhelming him. Jordan let him sob until he finally stopped on his own.

The spent the rest of the night in Jordan's bed, talking about all the things they'd never talked about before. Jordan revealed his own story to Isaac, eliciting more tears from them both. They heard Stiles and Derek leave the next morning for their run as they finally drifted off to sleep.

* * *

As they ran, Stiles and Derek did a good job of keeping pace with one another. The weather was warming, but still brisk—bordering on cold. Despite that, both were sweating. Stiles' lungs burned, but he relished the strain. He looked over, seeing Derek's face focused on the path ahead.

Derek noticed Stiles' stare and smiled quizzically, slowing to a stop. "What?" he asked.

Returning the grin, Stiles said, "You just look really sexy right now."

Derek seemed confused. "I'm all sweaty and gross."

"And yet I'm hard as a rock. What's your point?" As if to emphasize the matter, Stiles closed the already short distance between them and took Derek's hand, bringing it to his crotch, proving the truth of his words.

Derek's other hand came up behind Stiles' head, bringing their lips together. His tongue skillfully parted Stiles' lips his hands moved to the boy's back, pulling their bodies together in passionate embrace. "Let's head back home so we can take care of that," he suggested when their lips finally parted.

"I don't wanna wait until we get home," came the seductive reply. Stiles' hands reached down into Derek's sweatpants and boxer-briefs taking firm hold of the throbbing member. "It seems like neither do you…"

"We're in public," Derek softly protested. "Lots of people use these trails for their morning runs and jogs. What if we get caught?"

Stiles led them off the main path and down an embankment where he felt reasonably sure they wouldn't be seen. "I'll try to be quiet."

The ground was cold and while the snow had all melted away, the leaves that had fallen in the preceding autumn didn't make for a comfortable resting spot, but Stiles was reasonably certain he could make sure that he countered any discomfort Derek might feel. He climbed atop Derek kissing him passionately as he worked the pants down enough to get at Derek's huge erection.

He moved down, taking him expertly in his mouth. Stiles worked extra hard as he sucked on his boyfriend, knowing that this would be the only lube he'd have. They'd had enough sex that Stiles knew Derek was working hard to contain his moans as he clawed at the ground beneath them. "Dear God, that feels so good…"

Stiles pulled down his own pants, straddling Derek and lowered himself down onto Derek's cock. He bit his bottom lip. It hurt more than usual due to the lack of real lube, but he didn't care, he was just happy to have Derek inside him. "Now I'm going to be your Good Boy," Stiles grunted as he rode up and down.

He could hear people passing on the path. It made his heart beat even faster and he picked up the pace. They could get caught. All it would take is someone looking over the embankment to see him fucking himself on his boyfriend's huge dick. It was the most exciting sex they'd had in a long time. He could tell, staring into Derek's bright green eyes that he felt the same way. "Keep going," he urged, now meeting Stiles' movements with thrusts of his own. "You're such a Good Boy, Stiles… You're going to have to run all the way back home with my load up your ass." He wrapped his arms around Stiles, holding him tight. He jostled their bodies so that Stiles was now lying on the ground, propped up against the steep drop-off that lead back up to the path above them. He thrust hard into Stiles who cried out in the exquisite blend of pain and pleasure. Derek's eyes went wide and he clamped his hand over Stiles' mouth, shushing him.

For a moment, Stiles had forgotten that they were in public. Whenever he was with Derek, the rest of the world could just fade away. Derek continued to thrust as Stiles stifled more moans. "I'm almost there…" Derek told him. A few more thrusts and Stiles felt him release inside. Derek beat his fist against the ground in his attempt to contain his cries of ecstasy. They were usually much louder during sex than this. It was more exciting this way, though.

"That was so fucking hot," Stiles said softly as he held Derek tight.

"You didn't come," Derek noted.

"That just means you have to try again," Stiles replied.

"We need to head back," Derek said. "We're going to be late for work…"

"I'm not moving to this spot until you make me come," he said, smiling playfully up at Derek.

Derek resumed thrusting again. "I'll just have to try harder…"

* * *

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Peter wasn't sure if it was his level of anger or the drugs that coursed through his blood stream. He had never lost control like this before. He could see now that losing Isaac and Jordan had unhinged him. He never expected Jordan to leave. He loved Jordan. He thought he had done a better job of raising him to be strong… to look past the needs of the weak and to do what needed to be done. It cut him deeply.

Liam had become the object of all of Peter's frustration. Sometimes he was so bruised and sore from the near constant beatings that he could only lie in Peter's bed as he was then used to relieve the other frustrations the older man felt.

The boy survived just under two weeks before his body could no longer endure the abuse. The last thoughts before passed out, never to awake again, were that he had made such a terrible mistake. Deucalion would never have done this to him. Deucalion had cared for him. Deucalion had protected him. He had been greedy, thinking he could make more money working for Peter Hale. His only consolation was that at least he wouldn't be so sore anymore.

Peter's skin was covered in Liam's blood. It covered his hands and was splashed across his chest, abdomen, and face. It trickled down into his mouth, filling it with the taste of warm copper and staining his teeth red. He looked at his reflection, barely recognizing the rabid creature staring back at him. It had his face and his features, but surely that wasn't him.

Is this why his boys left? Had they run away, terrified of this monster with the blood-matted hair and wild eyes? Peter had never wanted them to fear him. Certainly, he wanted their respect, but above all, he wanted to ensure they never had to live on the street, cold and alone. He thought he had provided them a family. They were his sons. He loved them. He made love to them. He encouraged them to make love to each other when they weren't with clients.

He had to pay for the roof over their heads and the food they ate. It was far easier for him to do that with the fees the clients paid for access to the boys. They all seemed to love entertaining the men as much as the men loved sleeping with the boys.

He thought they were grateful, unlike his nephew had been. Those men hadn't raped Derek… they loved him. They showed their love the only way men can… physically. Was it their fault that Derek didn't explain they had been too rough? Not at all.

Peter couldn't be blamed for the misinterpretation of his actions. He hadn't meant to cause any of them harm. He missed his nephew terribly. He simply couldn't bring himself to forgive the betrayal of his nephew's abandonment.

That had been why he made it a point to fuck each of the boys. It was a bond he never had with Derek… a bond he simply _couldn't_ have with him. He thought that perhaps if his new sons had that bond to him, if they, in a rudimentary way, carried his DNA, they might show more filial devotion. He had been wrong. It only made their betrayal sting worse.

They spat in his face. They took everything he'd done for them and threw it back at him. The ungrateful little shits! Isaac was beaten nearly to death by his ingrate father. Jackson's adoptive parents never loved him like he was truly theirs. Peter had loved him. And Jordan… how could the life he provided that boy be worse than the slavery from which Peter had rescued him?

Didn't Jordan realize that he killed Corey to protect his remaining sons? They had run away to his nephew. Derek was taking everything he loved away from him. He knew what he had to do. If he took Derek away from them, they'd return.

His blue eyes reflected the light as he leaned against his bathroom sink. If they no longer had his nephew to adore, they would have to return to him… they would see how good they had it with him. He'd welcome them back with open arms and they would be a family again. It could work. He was sure it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I hope you liked this chapter. It's all starting to come together. Let me know what you thought!


	11. Sing Me to Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!Warning for character death and violence!!!!

"Alright ladies and gentlemen," Derek's smooth voice said into the microphone. "Today's topic is love. Now, you might be thinking to yourself, 'But Dr. Hale, Valentine's Day was weeks ago!' And you're right. But should we only consider that special person in our lives a few times a year? When we love someone… when we feel that earth-shattering, life-altering, can't-spend-more-than-a-second-away-from-you kind of love, shouldn't we celebrate that every day? And even if you don't have a special someone in your life, it's important to feel that same kind of love for yourself. How can you love someone else until you can love yourself?"

As Stiles listened to his boyfriend's speech, he felt conflicted. He was _still_ struggling with the concept of loving himself. There were so many aspects of himself he had deemed unlovable until Derek had loved him, not just in spite of those things, but understood those things to be an integral part of his history and what had made him the person he was. Derek unconditionally loved Stiles and was teaching him to do the same.

"We're going to take a quick break to hear from our sponsors, but when we return, I'll be taking your calls and listening to your stories about love," Derek said. As soon as the producer gave him the signal, he removed the large headphones and exited the sound booth. He gave Stiles a rapturous kiss. "How are you liking the show so far?"

"It's a little surreal being spoken about to all of your listeners… but I like that you enjoy this so much…" Stiles replied. "Is it weird having so many strangers asking you for advice?"

Derek shrugged. "My regular clients are essentially strangers asking for advice. The difference is I only speak to these people once… and for much less time."

The producer popped her head out. "Derek, we're coming back from break in a few moments."

Nodding, Derek turned back to Stiles, kissing him again before returning to the sound booth. The producer counted him down with her fingers then pointed at him to tell him they were once again live on the air. "Welcome back to _Help with Dr. Hale_. I'm the host, Dr. Derek Hale. Today, our topic is love. I want you all to take a moment to reflect. Is there anyone you care about but haven't told recently? Why not? Give them a call or a text telling them how you feel about them. It'll brighten both of your days, I promise! Now we have an anonymous caller on the line who has gone through some loss lately," Derek said, introducing the first 'guest.' "Caller, I'm so sorry to hear that… tell me what's going on."

"Hello Dr. Hale, big fan," the voice of the caller said. Despite the fact that the caller couldn't see, Derek smiled. "I've recently lost everyone around me whom I loved. They're all gone. They were like sons to me. I never told them how much I loved them and now I'm scared I'll never get the chance."

"It sounds like they're still alive… why don't you reach out to them and tell them how you feel?"

"There's someone else they love more. While he's in the picture, they won't pay attention to anything I have to say," the caller said.

"I'm sure they love you enough to at least try to listen. Isn't it worth a shot?" Derek prodded.

"You don't understand," the man replied, his voice flat. "They left me because of you. They won't listen to a word I say because of you. My boys are gone because of you, Dr. Derek Hale." There was enough venom in the way he said Derek's name that Stiles feared it could poison his boyfriend via soundwaves. Everyone in the production immediately went tense. "It started when you stole Stiles from me, Derek. You won't be happy until I'm all alone, will you? You abandoned me when you were a boy. I tried to take care of you… but you were never grateful for anything."

Derek's eyes went wide and his mouth went dry. "Uncle Peter?" he whispered.

Stiles had never seen such a look of pure terror on his face. "If you admit on live air how you met that boy you claim to love so much, I won't kill you."

Derek's voice trembled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then you're going to die. Your mother was a self-serving cunt, too," he said. The producer cut the feed. At that point, it was just Derek and Peter on the phone. "I'm going to kill you, Derek. I'm going to get back my family."

"You're my uncle… _I'm_ supposed to be your family," Derek said. "You don't have to do this, Uncle Peter."

"Oh?" Peter replied. "Suddenly I'm _Uncle Peter_. It's been more than 10 years and all of a sudden family means something to you?"

Derek swallowed down the lump forming in his throat. "Family always meant something to me. You just taught me the lesson that just because you're family doesn't mean you have the best intentions."

The producer finally disconnected the call, unable to stomach hearing any more. The studio was silent. Everybody was frozen in their places like statues, all looking at either Derek or Stiles. They were locked eyes with each other. Tears were falling from Derek's eyes. The secret he had worked so hard to keep from all but the few people he trusted most in his life was now out in the open. The pain he had worked so hard to overcome was now on display for everyone to see.

Everyone stared as he gathered his things and exited the booth. Stiles moved to put his arm around him as they walked out, but Derek shrugged him off. It stung to be rebuffed like that, but he knew that Derek needed a moment to process what had just transpired. Instead he followed behind him to the car.

* * *

Scott's motorcycle had been what woke Isaac up. Slowly he crawled out of bed, pulling on some pajama bottoms before heading into the entryway where Scott was hanging his coat in the foyer closet. "Did I wake you?" he asked, sounding guilty.

Glancing at the clock, Isaac saw it was almost noon. "It's alright… I didn't realize it was so late," Isaac replied. "Stiles and Derek aren't here right now. Derek's got his radio show today."

"I know," Scott replied, smiling pleasantly. "I came here for you."

Suddenly, Isaac was aware of the fact that he hadn't yet showered, his hair was sticking up and he was certain he looked awful "Me? Why would you come here for me?"

"Well, I saw some clothes that I thought you'd look really good in and decided to bring them over. I'm sure you must be tired of always borrowing Stiles' clothes," Scott said, revealing a bag of clothing.

"Oh… that's really sweet of you," Isaac said. "Thanks…"

"Stiles told me you've wanted to be a model?"

"I mean I did… but I'm just not model material," Isaac sighed, staring at a spot on the floor. "Especially not in comparison to my brothers…"

"What are you talking about? Have you seen yourself?" Scott replied. "No offense to Stiles, he's my friend, but compared to you, he's… well, he can't compare to you. We're talking the difference between Matchbox cars and Ferraris."

That statement struck Isaac. He looked up at Scott, "You're joking, right?"

Still smiling, Scott narrowed his eyes and leaned forward a bit. In a voice barely above a whisper, he said, "I never joke about Ferraris."

The laugh that erupted from Isaac took him completely by surprise in its depth and intensity. "Thank you, Scott," he said once he was finally able to speak.

Thrusting the bag of clothes at him, Scott said, "So are you going to try them on, or what?" Isaac hurriedly grabbed the bag and scampered off down the hall, coming back out a few minutes later with the first outfit on. Scott lit up, putting a finger in the air. "I have an idea… go back down the hall, then when you hear the music, come back… it'll be like a fashion show!"

Isaac was grinning ear to ear and went back. Scott pulled up his Spotify app, searching for a particular song. He connected his phone to the speaker system and music filled the house. Jordan came out of his room and joined Scott on the couch, watching and laughing as Isaac strutted through the house in an overly-dramatic fashion to the song "I'm Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred.

They were interrupted by Stiles and Derek bursting in. Derek looked harried. Scott hadn't seen him like this before. Derek moved over to the sound system, and in one sweeping motion, knocked it all to the floor. Abruptly the music stopped. "Am I interrupting something?" he demanded angrily.

"Derek, it's not their fault… they didn't know!" Stiles interjected.

"Stop trying to make it better!" Derek roared, causing all of them to jump. Stiles flinched, recoiling slightly. It filled Derek with guilt to see his boyfriend react that way due to something he did.

"What's going on?" Scott asked.

"Peter called the radio show. Now everyone knows what happened… my career is over. Everyone knows I'm a fucking fraud… and oh! As if that weren't enough, Peter promised to murder me on live air because he is a psychopath," Derek said. His mind was racing. He couldn't bring himself to look at Stiles at that moment. He felt too guilty about having snapped at him. He'd make it up to him later.

"Oh my God, Derek…" Jordan exclaimed.

Suddenly the house was filled with sirens and lights. Rafael and Chris got out of separate cars. "What the fuck do they want now?" Derek growled. He needed time alone. He didn't want his house filled with strangers just now.

Both Chris and Rafael looked grave. "Derek you're not safe here. We need to relocate you to somewhere safe. We're making our move on Peter tonight. As soon as he's in custody, we'll bring you back here… but until then, you're a sitting duck."

"I appreciate your concern, Chris, but I'm not leaving my home. Peter chased me away from my home once before… he's not going to do it again," Derek replied.

"This place is too open. We can't assure you're adequately protected here. And guarding this place will severely strain our resources when we should be out there detaining Peter," Rafael said in his no-nonsense growl.

"I'm staying here," replied a stubborn Derek. "I'll pay for my own security if I need to."

"Derek please, listen to reason," Chris implored. "I can't speak for Agent Asshat here, but I'm asking you as a friend."

"And I'm telling you as a friend. I'm not leaving my home," Derek insisted. "You don't know what it was like as a kid having to walk away from everything I knew and into a world I did not know and I wasn't ready for because I was afraid. I will never abandon my home again out of fear."

Stiles sighed. While he understood Derek's sentiment, he was afraid of losing him. "Derek, it's just for a few nights. Why don't we take a short vacation and get out of town? We can stay in a nice hotel… it won't feel quite so much like running."

"If we leave, he'll know I'm afraid," Derek sighed. "Stiles, I may have lost everything I've worked for today. I won't lose my home, too. You and your brothers can go if you'd like. Given your history with him, I wouldn't blame you if you did. But I'm staying here."

Stiles took Derek's hand into his own. He stared at it, studying its details. He'd memorized every one of them already. The way the veins showed and ran up his powerful arms, the way the fingers curled slightly when he was at rest, even the scar over one of the knuckles from when he had been playing outside with his sisters as a child. Stiles knew every detail of his boyfriend's body by heart. It was his soul he was still trying to learn and commit to memory. That was something he was committing the rest of his life to try and do. Every instinct in him said to run and hide. Peter had been violent before. But he'd never been homicidal. This was a new, more dangerous Peter they were dealing with and Stiles was terrified, but he refused to abandon his boyfriend. Derek was at his lowest point since they had met. "I won't leave you right now," he said. "I won't leave you alone when you need me the most."

Isaac and Jordan shared a look before Jordan spoke. "And we won't leave Stiles. If Peter comes here for Derek, we're going to protect him."

"What the fuck do you think a few whores are going to do if he comes with a gun?" Rafael asked, but never received an answer.

The fist came out of nowhere, knocking the FBI agent to the floor with one powerful blow to the face. Scott's hand exploded in pain. He had never actually punched anyone in the face before. Everyone stared at Scott, slack-jawed and astounded. Nobody had ever seen him that angry before. "You know what, Dad," he said rubbing his knuckles in an attempt to soothe the pain. "You're a really awful human being and I think you should get the hell out of this house."

Rafael was still on the floor, dazed from having been cold-clocked by his own son. He had been the one to teach Scott how to punch. On one hand, he was happy to see that his time spent in the lessons hadn't been wasted. On the other hand, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth pissed him off. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"These are my friends, Dad," Scott said. "And they mean the world to me. I'm not going to let you insult them in their own home. Get the fuck out before deck you again."

Rafael moved to his feet and stormed out of the house. The moment the door closed, everyone turned to look at Scott who smiled and shrugged like nothing happened.

* * *

Isaac couldn't remember ever feeling this way. Scott was naked and in his bed. He hadn't even felt this way when he'd been with Stiles. This was something different altogether. This was real. He savored the taste of Scott's mouth. He relished the way Scott felt against him. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Scott asked when they paused for a moment.

Isaac nodded, looking up into beautiful brown eyes. "I am." Scott trailed kisses down Isaac's slender, toned body and kissed the tip of his cock. Isaac gasped, "You don't have to do that…" he grunted as Scott engulfed him with his mouth. He wasn't used to men tending to his needs. Only Stiles had ever done that.

Grasping Isaac's cock with one hand, Scott stopped what he was doing and looked up at him. "I know I don't have to… I want to. This isn't just a hookup. And I'm not just here to get off. I want you to enjoy it. I won't be able to enjoy it if you don't." He went back to what he'd been doing, running his tongue along Isaac's length before closing his mouth around it once more, letting it fill him with the heady flavor of the boy's sex. He worked one finger into the boy's opening, eliciting gasps and moans as he scratched at the sheets beneath him.

His moans encouraged Scott. He wanted to give Isaac every possible pleasure. He didn't care if he didn't come at all that night as long as he could continue to see that look on the boy's face.

He continued until he could tell that Isaac was on the brink. "Stop!" the boy gasped. "I don't want to finish just yet…" Scott pulled away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"We can keep going so that you can come as many times as you want," Scott said.

Isaac smiled. "I really appreciate that… it's just that it hurts really bad when guys fuck me after I've already come," he explained.

"Oh," Scott replied. "Sorry… but… see? Communication!"

"Why don't we swap places for a little bit?" Isaac suggested. Scott smiled and obliged him. He had never felt anyone use their tongue in quite the masterful way Isaac did. They went back and forth like that for an hour before Scott finally grabbed a condom from the pocket of his jeans and tore it open between his teeth. He expertly rolled it onto his cock as he lifted Isaac's legs up and began to push into the lubed opening.

Biting his lip, Isaac stared up at Scott as the large cock entered him. He had long since lost count of the number of men he'd had sex with. He wasn't entirely sure he actually wanted to know the answer. He also didn't know how many of those times had been rape, but in his heart of hearts, he also knew that the act of killing his father meant he deserved it. Nothing could convince him otherwise.

He didn't know at what point sex became something he didn't enjoy. Except for with Stiles, it wasn't something done for his benefit. It came as a complete shock when he realized that he was thoroughly enjoying this. He didn't think he deserved to enjoy sex, but he turned himself over to the sensations Scott was eliciting with his movements.

Scott leaned down and kissed Isaac again. "Are you alright? Is this good for you?" he asked when the kiss broke.

He was unable to find words, so in response he nodded and leaned up to kiss Scott again.

* * *

Something sat uneasily with Jordan. He tossed and turned in his bed. Their first night had been quiet—except for the sounds of Isaac and Scott fucking in the next room. Jordan was worried that Scott was using him for his body in the same awful way that he once had. It made him physically ill to think of what he'd done to his brothers.

Scott had been gone by the time he got out of bed, so he couldn't confront him about hurting Isaac. There were guards everywhere. At least three stood posted inside the mansion at any given time and he had no idea how many surrounded the place. Still, he couldn't help but feel they were vulnerable. Peter had gone completely insane. A few men posted around weren't going to stop him completely. He knew that every second they stayed in the house, they were in danger and none of them more than Derek.

Derek still refused to listen to his warnings, but Jordan refused to leave his brothers. He wouldn't abandon them, not after having already done so much to harm them in the past. He sat at the kitchen counter with a bowl of ice cream. He originally intended on eating the ice cream, but the moment he brought the first spoonful to his lips, his stomach tightened more and he found he couldn't eat.

The clock on the stove read 3:46. Despite the number of people posted around the house, it was still eerily calm outside in the darkness of the early morning. Jordan continued to absent-mindedly draw figure-8 designs with his spoon in the milky remnants of the ice cream as he heard Derek padding into the kitchen.

He was wearing just a pair of boxers and looked incredibly sleepy as he opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. Jordan guessed Stiles was still asleep. He nodded in acknowledgement of Derek's presence and continued focusing his attention on his used-to-be ice cream.

"What are you doing awake so early?" Derek asked, genuinely curious.

Jordan shrugged. "Haven't gone to bed, actually. I can't sleep."

"I know you're worried, Jordan," Derek sighed, twisting the cap back onto the bottle. He set it down on the counter as he pulled up a seat beside the other man. "But I want you to know that I won't let any harm come to Stiles or anyone he cares about. That includes you."

"I appreciate that," Jordan said quietly.

"I know you don't think you deserve forgiveness… and from what Stiles has told me, maybe you don't… but Stiles and Isaac _do_ forgive you. They love you. Stop beating yourself up. The forgiveness they gave wasn't for you. It was for them, so that they could heal from what happened to them and to be honest, I think you have some healing that you need to do as well," Derek said.

"I can't forgive what was done to me," Jordan replied bitterly. "I was just a kid and someone auctioned off my virginity to strangers. My body was used sometimes around the clock and then I was sold… What kind of person does that to a kid?"

"Someone awful. I hope he's been caught and put in jail for what he did to you, Jordan. But continuing to hold onto it only hurts you. He probably doesn't even recognize that what he did to you was wrong. Some people are sick—and that's not an excuse—but they simply don't care whose lives they destroy in the process, as long as the end result is what they want," Derek told him.

"But I did the same thing to them, Derek," Jordan said through the lump building in his throat. "Even if they forgive me, I can't forgive myself because I know what it was like to have no say when someone just came up to you and started having sex with you… and I did it to them." He turned his teary eyes to Derek for the first time. "What if _I'm_ sick like those men who did that to me?"

Derek reached out a hand to comfort Jordan. "There's a big difference between you and them. You feel remorse. I'm not going to sugar-coat it, Jordan… you're going to have to live with what you did to them for the rest of your life, but you're actively working to make amends and you recognize that what you did was wrong. They still love you and you three have a bond of experience that will, if you continue working hard and earning back their love and trust, keep you close your entire lives."

"Do you forgive me?" Jordan asked in a choked voice. "For what I did to Stiles?"

"It isn't my place to forgive you for it," Derek replied. "But I know way too well what it's like being around Peter and I know how he can twist things in your mind. If I hadn't gotten out when I did, who knows… maybe I would have been in the brothel with you guys. I have no doubt in my mind that things would have eventually devolved to the point where my uncle was raping me too. Peter is… there aren't words to describe how awful Peter is."

Hearing those words brought forth a surge of emotion and Jordan reached over and wrapped his arms around Derek, crying into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Derek. I really am."

"I know you are," Derek replied, hugging him tightly and letting him cry. He had the feeling that Jordan hadn't been hugged by someone in a very long time. "And that's the reason why your brothers forgave you. That's the reason why I'm protecting you, too. If I thought, even for one moment, that you were anything like the monster that Peter is, you wouldn't be here. But you're part of Stiles' family, so you're part of mine, too."

Jordan finally released Derek from the hug and stared absently out the large window. For a moment, he thought he saw movement, but discounted it as being simply due to the guards outside. There was a flicker of light that suddenly grew bigger and Jordan knew that it was coming closer. He knocked Derek from his stool and placed himself over Derek's body as the kitchen erupted in a shower of flame, glass, and metal. Smoke filled the air as the gas from the Molotov cocktail clung to wooden cabinets, using them to fuel the inferno.

The high-pitched trill of the smoke alarm filled the air, adding to the din of the roaring fire. People swarmed into the room. Derek was still dazed from having been tackled to the ground before the explosion. He felt the guards pulling him into a part of the house that wasn't on fire.

Jordan was on the ground beside him. A huge shard of glass was sticking from his back and blood oozed from the wound, pooling beneath him. He was breathing raggedly, staring over at Derek. "I can't move…" he grunted.

"Jordan… stay with me. You're going to be fine…" Derek said, frantically moving over to him. He pulled Jordan onto his lap.

Blood was starting to drip from his mouth. Jordan knew he was going to die. "I need my brothers," he rasped, struggling, fighting for every breath he took. He needed to hold on long enough to see them.

Derek began barking orders at the guards, who were now standing around him, guns out. "Get Stiles and Isaac!" He turned to another guard. "Have the police and fire departments been called? What about Chris and Rafael?"

Various guards responded, assuring him that those people had, indeed, been notified and were on their way while another went to bring Stiles and Isaac to him. Both of them were in boxers, looking scared and disoriented. Isaac was the first to notice the huge shard of glass protruding from Jordan's back.

"What happened?" Stiles demanded.

"Someone threw a Molotov cocktail through the window. Jordan saw it first. He shielded me from the blast," Derek quickly explained.

He immediately began sobbing. "Jordan…"

"Isaac," he wheezed in response, trying not to choke on the blood bubbling up into his mouth. He didn't want to scare his brothers too much. "Stiles… I have so…" he struggled to say what he needed to say. "So many things… I'm so sorry."

"Jordan no…" Stiles sank to his knees next to his brother. He placed his hand on Jordan's face. "Jordan stay with us. We're going to get help. You're going to make it…"

Jordan managed a weak smile. "I won't. But it's alright. I'm not in any pain. I promise."

"You're our brother," Isaac whispered. "We need you."

"You don't need me," Jordan replied. "You never needed me… I only caused you pain. Just promise me… promise me you'll be happy in your life."

"I don't want to lose you," Isaac wept.

"Can I ask… one more thing of you?" Jordan asked, knowing his time was swiftly running out. He was having to take longer breaks between his words.

"Yes, anything!" Stiles promised urgently. "Whatever you want…"

"Once Peter is behind bars… find Jackson and Danny… tell them I'm sorry."

"We will," Isaac vowed, sobbing with his face near his brother's. He kissed Jordan's brow. They held his hand and Jordan gave it one last squeeze before exhaling for the last time. Both boys trembled in their grief. Derek reached out and closed Jordan's eyes, which were staring vacantly. His hands, which had been covered in Jordan's blood, shook as they reached out to try and comfort Stiles.

Several gunshots rang out in rapid succession. All around them, the guards Derek hired dropped to the floor. Isaac screamed in terror as they huddled close, unsure if they were going to soon join their brother—unsure if they would be able to uphold the promises they made to him.

Peter walked through decimated kitchen toward them, releasing the clip from his pistol and replacing it with a new one. "Did you think a few men were going to keep you safe, Derek? I want my family back. I want my boys back. Did you think me above killing anyone who got in my way?"

"Peter please don't do this!" Isaac begged. His voice was small as he wiped the tears away from his eyes. He wasn't going to see another person he cared about die. "You don't have to kill anyone else. I'll come back to you if you promise you'll leave Derek alone."

"That's an admirable sentiment, Isaac, but it's far too late for that. Derek has already done so much damage that the only way to repair it is by getting him out of the way," Peter replied.

Slowly, Derek rose to his feet, his hands up in a show of submission. "Haven't you killed enough people today? Jordan died because of you."

Peter's eyes flashed dangerously. Stiles recognized that look of pure rage and hatred. "Why do you insist on blaming me for everything you do?" he roared. "Jordan's blood is quite literally on your hands! You destroyed the family I created for myself when you abandoned me! This is _your_ fault, Derek!" He shook his gun in Derek's direction to emphasize the point.

"Fine," Derek ceded. "Then I won't argue. But do you really think you'll be able to make them love you after they watch you murder me? Look at them! They're grieving and they're terrified. All you're doing is traumatizing them further."

Peter's nostrils flared. "Shut up! You don't know what it was like growing up as Talia Hale's brother! She couldn't do any wrong and I got blamed for everything! And you're just like her. You know, you look like her too."

Stiles saw that the gun was aimed directly at Derek's chest. "Peter, please don't kill him!"

"Why do you love him more than me?" Peter asked. Stiles saw in his eyes that he was legitimately hurt by this. "I tried my best to provide for both of you when nobody else would."

"If I could explain it, I would, Peter. I'll come back to you if you just let him live," Stiles begged.

"You'd really come back to me, despite the fact that you claim to hate me so much?" Peter asked skeptically.

Stiles stared at Derek for a long moment, his eyes then travelling from his boyfriend to the gun poised to take his boyfriend away from him. There was one thing Stiles knew was certain: he would rather spend eternity in a hell with Derek than five minutes in heaven without him. He also knew that as long as Derek was alive and safe, he could accept that consolation prize. Even if he never again got to gaze into those gorgeous green eyes or kiss those soft, supple lips, it didn't matter because Derek would be safe. "Yes," Stiles replied.

"If you come back to me, you're going to hate me for separating you two," Peter said.

"I'll hate you so much more for killing him, Peter."

"If he's dead, you'll eventually—" Peter never finished the sentence. Three gunshots erupted, filling the space with deafening sound. Stiles saw as blood began staining Peter's shirt in two places. He looked around, trying to find the source of the third gunshot. Both Chris and Rafael had appeared nearby, each having shot Peter once.

It wasn't until Derek sank to his knees that Stiles realized that the third gunshot had been Peter. Derek's torso was covered in blood. More blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth, staining his teeth as he looked over at Stiles with wide eyes. Stiles screamed, "Derek no!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I know I'm a terrible person for ending the chapter like this... but nonetheless, let me know what you thought of the chapter and how you've enjoyed the story thus far. Only a few more chapters left until it's finished!


	12. How Monsters are Made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There are two deaths in this chapter

Sebastian Hale held his newborn son in his arms staring down at him. He remembered having the same reaction when his firstborn—his daughter Laura—had been brought home. Everyone said Laura looked like him. Sebastian knew that Derek looked like his mom. He treasured his children.

They had been told they couldn't have children. When Laura came, they were overjoyed at their miracle.

Sebastian was beside himself with joy when, four years later, Talia said that she was pregnant again. He had so many ideas for what he was going to do as a father. Talia had even needed to ban him from building a treehouse in the back yard until both children were old enough to safely climb. He was able to negotiate the existence of the tire swing that now hung from the giant oak tree. As he stared down at his son, he saw visions of himself teaching Derek how to play baseball and take him fishing.

He'd tried with Laura, but the moment she saw the bait worms, she began to cry. Instead, they spent the rest of the afternoon in his daughter's room. She had insisted that he dress up like a princess and attend her tea party. The photo commemorating the afternoon was displayed proudly on the fridge. There was nothing he wouldn't do to see that goofy grin on his daughter's face. He couldn't wait to begin spreading joy to his son, too.

"It's alright to put him down, you know," Talia teased her husband. "He'll be able to sleep on his own, I promise."

"I know," Sebastian replied with a smile, not taking his eyes off his son. "I still wanted to hold him."

Talia came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his strong back. She sighed as she heard the door open and close downstairs. "Peter's home," she announced.

"Talia, I know he's your brother, but he needs to straighten up or get out," Sebastian said finally. "I respect you and your family traditions enough that I took your name… but I'm sick of him coming and going like he owns the place."

"He's a bit misguided," Talia started.

"What about that creepy man he's always hanging out with… what's his name? Duke?"

"Duke is his only friend…"

"They say you can judge a man's character by the company he keeps. That man Duke is a pimp. You and I know that for a fact. Can we really trust him around our children? What other kind of human garbage will Peter be bringing around Laura or Derek?" Sebastian asked.

"Seb, I'm not saying you're wrong," Talia said, finally releasing her hug. "But it's hard parenting him, too… especially since he's my little brother."

"Well, if I talk to him, I assure you it won't be nearly as nice," Seb sighed as he slowly lowered Derek down into his crib. He reached over and turned on the night light before turning toward the nursery door. "Where's Wolf?"

"Curled up in our bed… where we should be," Talia replied with a laugh. As they made their way to their bedroom, they saw that the large Siberian Husky was curled at the foot of the bed. They'd gotten him as a puppy when Laura was two years old and she had been the one to name him. He, like Sebastian, was fiercely protective of Laura and even insisted on walking with them as Sebastian waited on the school bus with her. Wolf lazily opened his eyes and apart from thumping his tail against the comforter, didn't move.

Sebastian scratched Wolf behind the ears before pulling back the covers and climbing into the bed beside his wife. He leaned over and kissed her deeply before reaching over and turning off his bedside lamp. She did the same and curled up against him as the two drifted to sleep.

The next morning found Peter in a surlier-than-normal mood. Talia said a grateful prayer beneath her breath that Sebastian had already gone to work by the time Peter got up. The second time Peter slammed the refrigerator door, Talia finally spoke up. "What did the fridge ever do to you?"

"Not a damn thing," Peter replied.

"Then is there any reason why you're slamming the door and sulking?" Talia demanded.

"I heard you talking to Sebastian last night over the baby monitor," Peter said. "You can cut the concerned sister act. It just makes you look like a disingenuous bitch."

Laura froze in her seat at the kitchen table. "Ooh! Uncle Peter said a bad word, mommy!"

"Laura, sweetie, will you please go to your room?"

Laura furrowed. She looked mutinous. "But Uncle Peter said the bad word! Why am I being punished?"

"You're not in trouble. I just need to speak to your uncle privately," she replied, giving her daughter the look that told her not to argue. As soon as Laura was out of ear shot, Talia rounded on Peter. "What the hell was that about?"

"You aren't going to kick me out of my own house, Talia!" Peter said angrily. "I grew up here, too. I'm not losing my home."

"I'm not trying to kick you out of the house, Peter," Talia assured him. "But Sebastian raises some good points. You've been hanging around some rather shady characters. What if Laura or Derek got hurt? Could you live with that guilt?"

"I would never hurt them!" Peter replied hotly. "I can't believe you'd ever even think that!"

Talia sighed, realizing she was getting nowhere with her brother. "Peter please calm down. I never said you would hurt them. I know you love them just as much as Seb and I do. I just don't think you're looking at the possible unintended consequences of your actions."

* * *

They sat in the hospital waiting room as time dragged on. Stiles felt numb inside. In that same hospital, doctors were trying to operate on both Derek and Peter. They were desperately trying to save those men's lives. Somewhere else in that hospital, lying on a cold slab in a refrigerated compartment was Jordan's body.

Stiles had to force himself to stop looking at the clock. Instead, he stared at a speck on the tile, watching as it went in and out of focus the longer he remained trained on that one spot. He barely noticed the doctor finally approach. "Is there a Scott McCall?"

All eyes went to Scott, who stood up. He was Derek's named medical surrogate. "I'm Scott McCall," he said timidly. Stiles held his breath.

"The surgery was rocky. We had to transfuse quite a lot of blood. The bullet that struck him was designed to do as much damage as possible. Currently he's in a medically-induced coma. I'm sorry to say this, but there's very little chance that he's going to survive the next few days," the doctor said. Stiles felt like he was going to vomit.

"He's a fighter," Scott said unsteadily. "He's going to make it."

"If he can make it through these next few days, then he'll survive… but I would suggest ensuring his affairs are in order," the doctor replied somberly. "I'm sorry."

"He can't die," Stiles said in a small, pleading voice as the doctor walked away and Scott returned to sit next to him.

He reached out a comforting hand, and rested it on Stiles' arm. "He's going to make it through. It's what he does… when life hands him shit, he rises above it. He's going to need you, though."

Stiles shook his head. "No… he doesn't need me. He never needed me. It was always the other way around."

"I've never seen two people as in love as you two," Scott said softly. "The way you two look at each other… the way you act around one another… what you have is special and it's unique."

"But it's not going to help him survive," Stiles replied moodily.

Scott shrugged. "It could," he said. "When we make skin-to-skin contact with someone we like, or someone we love, it releases endorphins and other neurotransmitters that are known to lessen pain and promote healing."

"So you're saying that I just need to touch him?"

"I'm just saying that it might help," Scott said.

* * *

"You see what he's doing, don't you?" Duke said as he lay on his back, throwing a small rubber ball into the air and catching it. They were outside in the vast expanse of woods behind the Hale property.

"Who? Sebastian?" Peter asked, moving a bit so that his body reclined at a more comfortable angle in the bed of fallen leaves.

"Yeah," Duke replied. "He's trying to nuzzle you out so that you won't be able to claim your portion of the family wealth."

"Duke, you're my friend… but Talia made a good point today. What if something happened to the kids? There's no coming back from that," Peter said. It physically pained him to admit his sister was right.

"Don't tell me you're falling for their bullshit," Duke replied. "It's a pity. I thought you were smarter than that."

"It's illegal what you're doing," Peter said softly.

"Not really. Perspective is everything. I'm keeping these people safe. I'm providing a safe place for people to explore their sexuality and ensuring the rules are upheld above all. In this line of work, people must _always_ be made to follow the rules," Deucalion said with grim finality.

"But aren't you intending to move soon?" Peter asked. "How are you going to enforce the rules when you're all the way across the country?"

"I'm moving my business, yes… but you're welcome to come join me when you turn 18," Deucalion said.

"That's still months away. How do you even know people are going to want your services?" Peter asked.

Deucalion smiled knowingly. "People _always_ want sex, and people must always be reminded to follow the rules."

* * *

Stiles wasn't sure he had ever been so terrified as he was the first time he saw Derek in the hospital room with tubes in his nose and veins. The steady beeping of the machine next to him was the only thing that told Stiles that his boyfriend was still alive. He imagined Derek must have felt the same way when the situation had been reversed only a few short months prior.

Derek's features looked pale and drawn. His breaths seemed so shallow that they barely made his chest move. Stiles stayed at the hospital around the clock. Scott and Isaac brought him food and fresh clothes.

Though he made it through the first few days, he showed no signs of coming out of the coma. Stiles feared he never would. He had read somewhere that comatose people could hear things, so he spent his time talking to Derek. He told him things that were happening on the news. He told him that he loved him. He told him how much he wanted him to wake up so that they could start planning their life together.

He mostly ran on coffee. Hospital chairs were not comfortable beds. Despite Scott's urgings for him to do so, Stiles couldn't bring himself to go home, even if it was just for a few hours' sleep. "What if Derek wakes up and I'm not here?"

Scott didn't have the heart to tell him that it didn't seem likely that Derek would wake up any time soon.

In the same wing of the hospital was Peter, who was also in a coma. His hands had been cuffed to the sides of the bed in case he _did_ wake up. There was also an FBI agent standing watch outside his room at all hours of the day. Seeing that room made Stiles' blood boil, especially when he thought of the fact that doctors were actively working to ensure he lived.

It made Stiles more desperate to have Derek wake up. "Please come back to me," he whispered, caressing the hand that wasn't wrapped up with tubes for medication. "You said you wanted to talk about getting married after this Peter thing is settled. I'm holding you to that. You told me you'd always keep your promises." He sighed as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "I never thought I'd have something as amazing as what I have with you, Der… I'm not ready for this to end. It's selfish, I know, but I don't think I can face a life you're not in. You're my entire world. I don't think I've ever told you the degree to which I love you… and I regret that. Not a single second should ever go by where you don't know that you're the best thing that ever happened to me." Stiles leaned forward and kissed Derek's brow. "I don't know if soulmates are a thing—maybe they are, maybe they aren't—but I think you're mine."

Stiles combed his fingers through Derek's thick, black hair. He had never bared his soul like this. His voice broke as he continued speaking. "I should have just gone back to Peter. I put you in danger and I'm so sorry…"

Stiles didn't notice Scott join him in the room. "The last thing Derek would want is for you to feel sorry for yourself." Though his voice was soft and kind, the unexpected arrival of it startled Stiles. "Derek stared down the barrel of a gun for you. He took a bullet to prove his love for you."

"I know… but I feel so guilty, Scott. He went years without even a whisper of danger from Peter and I come into his life and bring him problem after problem and then this…"

"You've never been a problem," came a thin, weak voice. It was raspy from disuse, but Stiles would have recognized it anywhere.

* * *

Deucalion pulled Peter out of the room. The delighted smile was still parting his lips as he'd been watching the depravity taking place in the scene that played out. "As my new business partner, I want you to be present for what's about to happen," he said.

Suddenly Peter looked disappointed. "This better be good Duke… did you see what I was watching?"

Deucalion led Peter through the maze of rooms throughout the brothel and into his office. A black tarp had been placed on the floor and atop it a man was naked, chained to a St. Andrew's Cross. This wasn't an entirely uncommon scene in this place. Peter's eyes sparkled. "Are we going to play with him?"

"Oh I believe he's done entirely too much playing already," Deucalion replied cryptically.

The outfit Peter was wearing—a leather X harness, chaps with no ass or front, and leather boots—made it plainly evident that he still wanted to play with this man. "Come on, Duke…" Peter pleaded. "We never have any fun together anymore…"

"We're business partners, not boyfriends," Duke sighed, annoyed by the delay.

Peter shrugged. "My point still stands… so what's all this about?"

Deucalion circled around the man. "This spineless wanker does not seem to know the definition of the word 'stop.' Before this night is out, I intend to teach him not only its definition, but how terrible it is when that word is ignored."

"Duke… what are you talking about?" Peter asked.

"There are only a few rules this community imposes… Safe. Sane. Consensual. The rules must always be observed, Peter. The rules must always be enforced," Deucalion replied resolutely.

"This is insane… so he went a little far on a person who already wanted it. What's the big deal? Besides… who made you the kink police?" demanded Peter.

"Rules, if not enforced, lose all meaning," Deucalion said fiercely. "And as long as I draw breath I will ensure these rules are abided by. Nobody is above them. Not even us." Deucalion turned from Peter, he grabbed a knife and held it to the man's skin. A whimper broke the moment of tense silence. Deucalion slashed the knife deftly, removing the man's skin. Bright red blood ran down his body, spilling onto the tarp, followed by the sickening splat of the chunks of skin.

Peter felt the burning surge of bile rise in his throat. He leaned over, barely making it into the trash can. The man's howling screams as he was skinned alive cut through every attempt Peter made to block out what was happening. The sharp coppery scent of his blood filled his nostrils.

He tried to leave but Deucalion blocked him. "You will stay until it's done."

"Duke, get out of my way before I knock you out of my way," Peter growled. "This is disgusting… what you just made me witness is sickening."

"Remember what I said, Peter… the rules must always be enforced," Deucalion replied, stepping away to let him pass.

Peter rushed to his room and pulled on enough clothing that he could go outside. He stuffed the money he'd made into a bag and ventured out. The smells and sights of the city couldn't drive away the horrors of what he'd seen, but the lesson Deucalion was trying to teach was loud and clear. He'd been accused of going too far. That fate would be his before long. He had to escape while he still could.

* * *

Stiles sat on the edge of Derek's bed feeding him his dinner, despite the protests that he was perfectly capable of feeding himself.

"You're still recovering. Too much movement can tear open the internal wounds," Stiles said. "The doctor said you're lucky to be alive. Millimeters in either direction and the bullet would have killed or paralyzed you."

"I heard what the doctor said," Derek said as he swallowed the bite of food. "I also heard what you said."

Stiles flushed. "That was embarrassing."

"It shouldn't be," Derek replied. "You were right. I made promises to you and I need to keep them. It's finally over… we don't have to worry about Peter anymore. As soon as I'm out, I'm going to marry you."

"Oh, is that right?" Stiles joked. "Very presumptive of you to think I'll say yes…"

"I don't know… maybe the fact that you sat here the entire time I was unconscious and that you declared your undying love," Derek replied, reaching out to pull Stiles closer and kissed his boyfriend's lips.

"How do you know that I declared my undying love if you were unconscious?" Stiles asked.

Derek blushed. "I may have been awake for part of that…"

"And you let me go on and on? You asshole!"

"It was sweet," Derek said. "And it reminded me of things that I haven't said to you. Facing down Peter brought me a sense of closure I didn't know I could feel. I'm finally free."

"Derek," Stiles sighed. "He's still alive. He survived the gunshots. He's here on this floor…"

"I don't care," Derek replied. "Because now he's going to get what he deserves. He's going to answer for everything he did."

"They are only charging him with manslaughter for Jordan's death. He's got attempted murder with a firearm for you and human trafficking for Isaac and me… He'll spend the rest of his life in prison, but he's Peter. He'll just do the same thing he was doing to us, but this time it'll be to someone in jail. Nobody deserves that," Stiles said.

"You're right… but that's not your problem. You worry too much, Stiles."

* * *

There was a time when Peter Hale would have been thoroughly excited by the prospect of being handcuffed to a bed. Now, he was finding that the sensation quickly grew stale. His boredom channeled itself into cruel outbursts at the nursing staff and his FBI babysitter.

He most looked forward to the times when the nurses brought him morphine and he was able to let the pain of the gunshot wounds and the fact that he had failed to kill his nephew fade away into the foggy, dreamless void.

Mostly he hated the fact that he failed. In a moment as fast and explosive as a gunshot, he forever destroyed his chance at reuniting his boys and rebuilding their family. The pain was coming back. He knew that meant that soon, so would his nurse. He gave them credit that they, at the very least, seemed to know when to come.

Peter heard hushed discussion outside his room before a nurse came in. He was a tall leanly-built man with nondescript green scrubs and bright white tennis shoes. He wore a medical mask over his nose and mouth. There was something vaguely familiar about the nurse… but Peter hadn't made it a point to remember any nurse in particular.

Without speaking, the man withdrew a syringe and injected it into the IV drip. He waited, watching for Peter's reaction.

It took a minute or so, but Peter realized he couldn't move. He tried to scream for help, but couldn't force the noise from his mouth. Peter watched as the nurse removed his mask. "Hello Peter. It's been quite some time," he said. "I apologize for the theatrics, my friend. Certain precautions must be taken given the nature of my visit."

Peter's eyes tracked Deucalion as he moved closer and sat on the side of the bed. "I must say that I truly regret that it's come to this, however you've forced my hand." Deucalion took another syringe out of his pocket and injected it into the IV feed. "Even back then, I knew this day would come. To be honest, I should have acted sooner. Perhaps I could have prevented such a reign of loss and devastation that you unleashed. The rules must always be observed, Peter. They must always be enforced. And those who refuse to submit to the rules must be punished."

Peter's breathing became more and more difficult until he was unable to breathe at all. He was suffocating and unable to move. He could only lie there helplessly as he stared at Deucalion's resolute face. In that moment of helplessness and terror, he understood how his boys must have felt. To have something so terrible done to them that they had no power to prevent or fight back. His lungs burned for the air that simply would not come. His heart thundered, trying to pump more blood through his body in an attempt to move the oxygen that wasn't there. His understanding and sorrow had come far too late for him to do anything about it. At last, Peter Hale was no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Thanks for your patience and thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought! The story is almost done... I think one or two chapters might be left.


	13. Falling Slowly

The graveyard was quiet. Isaac couldn't remember if the birds had stopped chirping or in his grief he'd tuned them out. He kneeled slumped over a grave with fresh dirt. The flowers brought a sharp contrast of life in a place otherwise devoid of it.

Jordan's grave stone was one of the newer ones. Many of the surrounding headstones were corroded by time. A few were crumbling after years of neglect. It made Isaac sadder to think that eventually, this would be the only thing left of his brother.

Peter's remains had been sent to California and interred in the large mausoleum dedicated to the Hale family. It was a relief to Isaac, who was horrified at the thought of Jordan lying next to Peter for all eternity.

Mostly, though, Isaac was angry. He was angry that as his life had finally become normal and he was finally surrounded by people he loved, it was subsequently ripped apart. He realized that he couldn't outrun the curse. He remembered reading something in school that said the gods' worst curses were meant for those who killed their own fathers. He was scared that Stiles or Scott would become the next victims of his curse. Derek had only barely survived.

Finally standing, Isaac picked up the backpack and slung it over his shoulder. His vision was blurry with tears as he walked back to the cemetery entrance where he'd chained up Stiles' bike. He intended on sending his brother money to replace it once he got himself settled. Isaac figured that if he could just explain why he left, that maybe Stiles would forgive him for leaving. It was, after all, one of the hardest things he ever had to do.

He made it a few miles down the road when a car passed him and then pulled to a stop at the side of the two-lane road. Scott climbed out of the car and rushed toward Isaac who slowed to a stop on the bike. "Where are you going?" Scott demanded. His tone was harsh, but Isaac could see the hurt etched into his face.

"I don't know… anywhere… Canada maybe?" Isaac replied, avoiding eye contact.

"Did you intend on telling anyone? Stiles and Derek are worried sick," Scott said. " _I_ was worried sick."

"You don't have to worry about me. Neither do Stiles and Derek. "What I'm doing is for all of you…"

"If what you're doing is for us, then you'd stay… We don't want to be without you," Scott insisted. "We love you, Isaac."

"You love me?" Isaac asked, looking at Scott directly for the first time.

"Yeah," Scott replied. "I do. Which is why I'm hurt that you would leave without saying anything."

"I _have_ to leave. I don't want you guys to get hurt because of me," Isaac said softly.

Scott was confused. "What do you mean?"

Isaac sighed. "Don't you see? People around me die. Peter and Jordan… next it could be you or Derek or Stiles."

"Isaac, Jordan died trying to save Derek and Peter died of a drug reaction in his hospital room. It was coincidental. You aren't cursed."

"The worst sin is to kill your dad and I—" Isaac began but Scott cut him off.

"The worst sin is to beat and abuse a child who depends on you for help and guidance. Stop apologizing for what your father did to you, Isaac. It's okay to be angry at him for it. It's okay for you to be glad he's not around to hurt you. It's also okay to miss him and to mourn his loss. You are entitled to every single one of those emotions."

Isaac seemed caught off guard by that. Nobody had ever given him permission to be okay with any of it. Peter told him that what he'd done to his father wasn't forgivable. That was why he'd gone through all of that hell. The weight of it all seemed to crush him. Scott wrapped his arms around him and let him cry.

* * *

"Derek, you should lie down. You're going to hurt yourself," Stiles complained.

"If I stay in that bed I'm going to go insane. Besides, the doctors said some light activity is good for my recovery. I don't have broken ribs like you did," Derek replied.

"You only got shot in the chest," Stiles quipped. "No big deal…"

Chuckling, Derek continued cooking. "I love cooking for my boyfriend. A bullet isn't going to keep me from doing that." Derek still had Stiles assist in grabbing ingredients and utensils that put a strain on him. Stiles' stomach growled as the aromas began filtering through the house. The kitchen looked exactly as it had before the Molotov cocktail. Derek's contractors had worked quickly and efficiently to restore every square inch of the house to its former glory.

Stiles didn't reply. Instead, he watched intently as Derek's passion for cooking revealed itself once more. He loved how comfortable this felt. They no longer had the danger of Peter hanging over their head. "Derek?" he said after a while.

"Yeah?" Derek answered, not looking up from the stove.

Stiles swallowed down the anxiety building up. He honestly didn't know why he was so nervous. "Once you're healed, I'd like to marry you."

Though Stiles couldn't see it, he could hear the smirk in Derek's voice. "That's a pretty lackluster proposal, don't you think?"

Stiles was taken aback—offended, even—by the question. "As opposed to what? Your quasi-proposal before the attack?"

Derek moved the sizzling pan to an inactive burner and turned to face Stiles. He came around the counter and placed himself directly in front of his boyfriend. He struggled to one knee. "I had originally planned on doing this later tonight, but since you brought it up," he began as he reached into a pocket and pulled out a small box. Stiles felt his heart jump into his chest as Derek opened it, though he knew what was inside. Two rings—one for Stiles and one for Derek—sat there, shimmering beneath the light of the kitchen. "Stiles, we've been through so much more than many couples ever have to and we survived. You know all the dark places of my mind and yet you look at me like I'm the sun. As I've said before… I never want there to be a day when we are not together and in love. So will you marry me?"

Stiles began to cry tears of joy. "You stole my proposal thunder," he said, choking past the lump in his throat. There were so many things he wanted to say, but only one word would come forth and it was the only word that actually mattered. "Yes."

Derek beamed, his hands shaking slightly as he fumbled the rings out of the box, slipping one onto Stiles' finger and the other onto his own. He struggled back to his feet with Stiles' help and planted a deep kiss on his fiancé's lips. He forgot all about the meal he was trying to make and instead, they made love.

Isaac's eyes stayed glued to Stiles' finger as he pushed the cart through the aisles of the grocery store. "Stop staring!" Stiles chided.

"I can't help it. It's so shiny. It seems to catch the light no matter what position it's in. Derek didn't spare any expense…" Isaac replied as he sorted through vegetables piled neatly into pyramids, searching for the best examples. "Does this mean you're going to end up having kids, too? Am I going to be an uncle?"

Stiles chuckled. "I don't think we'll be doing the babies thing any time soon. We're still trying to reclaim our lives. I think we've earned the right to just be us for a bit, you know?"

Isaac shrugged as he looked back at his brother. "If you were a woman I'd bet that you'd be knocked up before you said your vows."

"What makes you say that?"

"I live in the same house as you and him… I hear things."

Stiles looked shocked. "Our bedroom is on the opposite end of the house!"

"Yeah… I know."

"Enough about us. What's going on with you and Scott?" Stiles asked as he put apples into a plastic bag and tied it off at one end.

"I think he's going to ask me to move in with him soon," Isaac admitted.

"And will you?" Stiles asked. "Move in with him, that is?"

"I don't know. I was actually meaning to talk to you about it. Do you think I should?" he asked.

Stiles thought for a moment. "I think you've been doing things to please other people your entire life. The question you should really be asking yourself is whether or not you want to. When you know your answer to that, you know your answer to the other question," Stiles replied pragmatically.

Isaac seemed satisfied with that response and they continued shopping, ticking items off their rather extensive grocery list one-by-one. Derek was planning on cooking a feast at the end of the week to celebrate his recovery. Neither of them noticed the two men hanging back several paces everywhere they went.

* * *

The stroke of the whip caused Stiles to shudder and grunt. "You're supposed to be counting," Derek reminded him.

"Twenty-three," Stiles sputtered. _Crack!_ "Twenty-four." _Crack!_ "Twenty-five."

Derek examined the latticework of bright red stripes across his fiancé's back. Both men were rock-hard. "You're such a good boy, Stiles," Derek said in a throaty whisper as he climbed on top of Stiles. He ran his tongue along the longest of the whip marks. It tasted like sweat and blood. He made a mental note to apply some salve to Stiles' back when their fun was over to keep from scarring his beautiful skin.

Stiles was lost in his sub-space high. He was barely aware of it when Derek shoved into him. They had been working up to this for hours now. Derek wished he could continue on with the other activities, but he felt is cock was going to burst if he didn't do this instead.

As always, Stiles gripped him tightly. He thrust frantically, eliciting groans from Stiles. He buried his face in the crook of his fiancé's neck. The scent of his sweat was intoxicating, causing Derek to continue his thrusts with renewed vigor. It didn't take long for him to finish. He collapsed, entirely drained, on top of Stiles.

"That was so good!" Stiles panted.

"Did you come?" Derek asked.

"No," Stiles replied. "But it would have been too much if I came. I still need to come down a bit."

"I just want to make sure you enjoy it," Derek replied. "If you don't enjoy it, then what's the point?"

"I appreciate your attention to detail. Just assume that I enjoyed it until I tell you otherwise," Stiles said.

"That's a dangerous precedence to set," Derek whispered.

"Untie me," Stiles said. Derek quickly obeyed, unfastening the cuffs that kept Stiles stretched out and immobilized. He jostled his body, causing Derek to slide out of him. The room stank of sex. He moved so that they were now face-to-face. "I trust you. If I didn't trust you implicitly, I would never have agreed to marry you. I would not have left The Wolf Den to come be with you."

"Stiles, I—"

"No, Derek. What we do is intense. It crosses lines some people cannot come back from. So I don't want to hear it."

Derek grinned. "You're sexy when you lay down the law."

A knock broke up the make-out session. "Derek! Stiles! There's someone at the door!"

"Isaac… we're kind of in the middle of something!" Derek called.

"No, you finished already. I can tell by the lack of noises coming out of your room. But seriously… there's someone at the door!"

"Then answer it!"

"I already did, but seriously! Come on!"

Stiles sighed. "We'll be out in a moment. We need to get… decent."

Derek chuckled. "It's going to take a lot more than a few moments for us to restore any level of decency after that…" They both laughed before getting up. The pulled on loose-fitting clothing before making their way to the front door. Their bodies still shone with sweat from their activities.

"Isaac, what was so important that you interrupted us having sex?" Stiles asked, feigning being more annoyed than he actually was.

"Trust me, I wouldn't have if it wasn't important. Come on!" Isaac replied, grabbing Stiles' hand and taking off, forcing Stiles to follow at a pace that was not exactly comfortable given his previous activity. Isaac led them to a rarely-used sitting room where two familiar faces sat, drinking water.

Stiles froze. He could barely believe his eyes. "Danny? Jackson? You found us…"

"You didn't make it difficult," Jackson replied. "Those headlines were nation-wide and google searches are easy. Especially for him." It relieved Stiles to know that Jackson's asshole personality hadn't changed.

Grinning, Stiles approached his brothers and gave them tight hugs. "I was so scared you were dead. Thank God you're still alive!"

Danny leaned in, resting his arms on the table. "Is it true… is Jordan really dead, too?"

There was a sharp intake of air from Isaac, who bit his lip. Stiles' eyes shifted uneasily from him to his other two brothers. "Yeah… he's dead," he replied softly.

"Good," Jackson sighed. "One less rapist out there." Isaac began crying. Jackson seemed unfazed. "It's true. He raped all of us."

Isaac stifled a sob and ran out of the room. Stiles moved to follow after him, but Derek stopped him. "Give him some space," he whispered into his fiance's ear. He then addressed Jackson. "You're not under any obligation to accept his apology, but I'm under obligation to convey it. He died to save my life and I firmly believe that he was sorry for what he did."

"He should be," Jackson countered defiantly. "Because I will live every day for the rest of my life knowing what it felt like to have him bend me over and fuck me against my will."

Isaac peeked back into the room. "You don't know what happened to him before he did that," he said in a small voice. "It wasn't his fault. And if you're going to talk bad about him… then y-you're not welcome here."

Everyone in the room seemed shocked by Isaac's words.

"He treated you worst of all. You're really going to take his side?" Jackson demanded.

"Forgiving him was hard," Stiles interjected. "But Isaac and Derek are right. He was as much a victim of Peter as we were."

"Then I hope he's at peace," Danny said softly. Jackson merely pursed his lips as if the words his boyfriend said tasted bad.

"So our nightmare has ended," Jackson said finally. "Peter's dead. We're don't have to fuck every man who lays a finger on us… what do we do now?"

"We try to heal," Stiles said, resting his head against Derek's strong body.

* * *

Stiles walked out of the examination room. Both Derek and Isaac were waiting to greet him. "How'd you do?" Isaac asked excitedly.

"I'll know in a few hours after they score it," Stiles said numbly. He was mentally and physically exhausted.

"I'm sure you did fine," Derek replied, wrapping his arms tightly around Stiles. "You aren't giving yourself enough credit."

Stiles wriggled out of his fiancé's grasp. "Or maybe I give myself too much."

Both Derek and Isaac shared a concerned look as Stiles stalked off from the two of them. Derek motioned for Isaac to stay put for a moment while he followed behind. He stayed two or three paces behind his fiancé until Stiles finally stopped walking and slumped down beside a tree, crying as he buried his head in his hands. "Stiles, what's wrong?" Derek asked after a moment.

Shaking his head, Stiles sobbed, "I honestly don't know… I should be happy right now. I have my brothers… I have you… I have everything going for me and I should be ecstatic right now. So why do I feel empty?"

Derek took a seat next to him. He paused for a moment before answering. "So much was stolen from you… and at such a young age. It's going to take time before you or any of your brothers are whole again… if at all. I know it will sometimes feel like an uphill climb, even when you should be walking on air, but you aren't going through this alone anymore. I'm here too. When you feel like this, talk to me. You're entitled to every dark moment. But you don't have to endure it by yourself."

Stiles shifted and leaned toward Derek, moving so that he could lay his head in his fiancé's lap. "I thought the nightmares would end. I thought I'd be ok after we found Danny and Jackson and I'm not… if anything I'm more afraid."

Derek calmly stroked Stiles' hair, allowing his fingers to deftly work along Stiles' scalp. "You feel responsible for them. It's only natural that your fear would heighten. But I'm going to offer you a suggestion that you may not like. It's not your job to be responsible for them."

"But if I'm not, who will be?"

"They will. You're not doing them any favors by trying to shield them from the world outside that brothel. You're also not doing yourself any favors," Derek said. "It's ok—healthy, even—to be a bit selfish every once in a while."

"You're kind of amazing. You know that, right?" Stiles sighed. He felt more relaxed.

Smiling at the compliment Derek leaned down and kissed Stiles' cheek. "So really… how do you think you did?"

"I'm pretty sure I'll be getting my GED. And I honestly can't thank you enough," Stiles said softly.

Derek shook his head emphatically. "Nope. No. Absolutely not. You did this work on your own and I refuse to take even an ounce of credit for your accomplishment."

"You're too noble for your own good sometimes," Stiles complained. The two of them sat there, drinking in the sunlight and heat. Isaac eventually joined them.

When it was time for the scores to be released, they made their way back to the room. Stiles logged into the computer and there it was. He had passed. He stared, slack-jawed. He'd done it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: So sorry for how long it's been! I've had no time for writing. I hope you enjoy the chapter and please leave feedback.


	14. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter of Closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been more than a year writing this. I hope you enjoy the conclusion to the story.

The _tick-tock_ of the clock on the wall caused Stiles' chest to tighten. He stared blankly at a spot outside the window behind his psychiatrist. "You've had quite a few things to celebrate since we last saw one another," the doctor said. Stiles nodded vacantly. "Yet you don't seem happy. Might I ask why?"

"I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop," Stiles admitted. "Things don't go this good for me. Every time they do someone I love either nearly dies or does die. I'm so scared now that since so much has gone right for me that I'm going to lose someone I love."

The doctor scribbled something down on his notepad and removed his glasses. "Stiles, have you ever heard of something called 'regression to the mean'?" Stiles shook his head in response. "Essentially, it means that things tend to even out. We may have some extremely bad things that happen to us and we sometimes have some extremely good things that happen to us. The rest is sort-of just neutral. Even a pendulum eventually loses momentum."

Looking as though he'd just been struck, Stiles blinked a few times. "So I'm just going to have blah?"

The doctor smiled. "Not necessarily. But look at it this way: you've had so much bad happen to you that it seems only right that some good should happen too. And if we don't celebrate the good because we're too afraid of the bad, we miss out on the joys life can offer us. I want you to spend time celebrating your achievements. You've endured so much. Wouldn't you say you deserve _at least_ that?"

Stiles nodded as the words sunk in. The doctor was right. He had been such a space cadet lately, numbing himself to everything so that the eventual bad wouldn't come as such a devastating shock.

But he had achieved his GED and he had a wedding to look forward to. His life was going to become normal… average, even. And wasn't that the best thing of all? After a life of such remarkable horror, wasn't a life of unremarkable mundanity something to look forward to? He smiled inwardly at this revelation, more thankful to his psychiatrist than he would ever know.

The rest of the session went well, with Stiles divulging the details of the small wedding that was planned to happen in only a few weeks' time. "And what about other plans for your future? Are you still wanting to join the FBI?"

Stiles thought about the question for a moment. "Honestly no… they say don't meet your heroes and they were right. The one FBI agent I've ever met at this point was such a pompous asshole that it kinda turned me off to the FBI as a profession."

"Then what would you like to do instead?"

"I think I want to study psychology and sociology. I want to become someone who can help the people who have gone through what my brothers and I have gone through… someone who understands what that's like…" Stiles paused for a moment. "No offense… you've been a great shrink this entire time…."

"None taken," he replied politely.

The session wrapped up shortly after that. Stiles gathered his belongings and exited to the lobby where Derek was leisurely thumbing through a magazine. He smiled as he looked up, seeing Stiles in the doorway. It was a smile that Stiles had seen many times and it never failed to captivate him. Every time Derek looked at Stiles, he had this smile as though all beauty and radiance in the world emanated from him.

* * *

Stiles sat in Isaac's bedroom as he waited for the time to arrive for him walk down the aisle. The wedding was a small one held on the vast lawn of Derek's house. A sharp rap of knuckles against the door was met with Isaac calling back "Unless it's Derek, feel free to come in!"

Isaac was fussing with Stiles' hair. He'd gotten it perfect about twenty minutes ago, but nervous energy was fueling the additional fuss. Chris nervously poked his head in. "It's me," he announced. Isaac ushered him in as he asked, "Is it alright if I have a few moments alone with Stiles?"

"I'll be right outside," Isaac chirped as he closed the door behind himself.

"I can't believe it's about to happen!" Stiles said excitedly as he rose to his feet and wrapped his arms around Chris.

When the hug released, Chris sat on the bed and motioned for Stiles to join him. "I wanted to talk to you before the ceremony… just us."

Stiles stared excitedly at his friend. "What's up?"

Chris seemed nervous. "I know you're excited," he began hesitantly. "And I'm excited too… but I want you to know something before it's too late… You're about to make a big decision. I want you to…" He took a deep breath.

"Chris, you're scaring me," Stiles said softly.

Reaching into his pocket, Chris pulled out a silver pocket watch. The surface was engraved with a _fleur-de-lis_. "This has been in my family for hundreds of years. There's been a few different versions of the story passed down. Some say the silver used to make it was from a melted down sword or dagger that had been in the family for even longer… I'm not sure how true it is. But I want you to have it."

Stiles was breathless. "I couldn't possibly… Something like that should stay in your family, Chris."

"It could," replied Chris enigmatically. "If you married me instead."

Stiles didn't think he heard Chris correctly. "What?"

"You can still marry me instead. Be with me… I'll take care of you and give you everything you need and want. I love you, Stiles and I want you to know that I could make you happy," Chris implored.

"I… I don't… Chris, this seems so sudden. Why today? Why now?"

"I know it does… but I didn't have any more time to wait," Chris replied. "In a little while, you would have said your vows and gotten married to him and never known."

A silent fury glimmered in Stiles' eyes. How did Chris expect him to react? He shoved the trinket back into Chris' hand. "No. Today is my wedding day and I'm marrying Derek Hale. Why would you come in here and drop this bomb on me? How is that fair to us? I thought we were your friends…"

"You are, Stiles… but… you know… I just…" Chris couldn't find the words he wanted to say and was quickly realizing that nothing he said would make this situation any better. He was going to have to accept the painful reality of loving Stiles from afar. "I'm so sorry. Forget I said anything. But please, Stiles… keep the gift. Think of it as your something old."

Chris sat the pocket watch gently on the bed and made his way to the door. He stopped for a moment to look back at Stiles before continuing his way to his seat. Something told him Stiles wouldn't tell Derek about this, otherwise he'd have left entirely.

Only after Chris was gone did Stiles reach for the pocket watch. The craftsmanship was exquisite. The metal was cold and Stiles feared he would never actually use it, but not just because nobody used pocket watches anymore. He feared that the item was now too tainted with his anger over its part in this interaction. He was afraid it would be imbued with the resentment he now felt. Still, he placed the item in his pocket as Isaac popped his head into the room to tell Stiles it was time.

He noticed tears on his brother's face. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Stiles lied, sniffing and wiping them away with the back of his hand. "I'm just nervous."

"No need to be nervous, Stiles… you're about to marry Derek Hale and then spend the rest of your life with the guy you love!"

Stiles followed his brother out to the area where the wedding would be held. As he walked down the small aisle in the back yard, he saw that same wondrous smile on Derek's face. It stayed there as they exchanged rings and vows.

Stiles was oblivious to the people around him as he stared into Derek's eyes. He heard that people were always nervous on their wedding day, but there had never been a day when he was less nervous than he was now. Saying his vows was the easiest thing he had ever done. He promised his eternal love, fidelity, and devotion to Derek and received the same pledge in return. Their first kiss as a married couple was the sweetest, fiercest, and most tender kiss they had ever shared and promised to be the first of many just like it.

The ceremony and subsequent reception were small, intimate affairs with only a handful of people invited. Isaac had been Stiles' best man and Scott had been Derek's. Neither had ever looked so handsome as they did in their tuxedos. Sometime after the main course and before they cut the cake, Chris pulled Stiles aside once more. "Please don't tell Derek about what happened earlier," Chris implored.

"You're asking me to start lying to my husband and we've only been married a few hours," Stiles replied. "Chris… do you want to know why I chose Derek and not you?" To be quite frank, Chris really didn't, but he felt that this was something that Stiles needed to say and that he needed to hear, so he hesitantly nodded. "It's the difference in how you both treated me when I was your prostitute. I was just a warm body for you, Chris. I came that night because it was on your terms… you didn't care one way or another, just so long it got you off… and again when you visited me while I was at Duke's."

"Stiles I'm so sorry," he began. "I had no idea that we'd end up on this path together…"

"And neither did Derek, but when he and I had sex for the first time, I had no doubt in my mind that he cared for more than just my body or his needs," Stiles replied, cutting him off.

"But then he beat you and whipped you…" Chris insisted. "He still does…"

"Because he is my Dom and I am his sub. But to him, I am first and foremost the man he loves. I know beyond any shadow of a doubt that if I told him I didn't want to do the Dom/sub thing anymore… hell if I told him that I didn't want sex anymore, he'd be ok with that because he respects me… and he respects the choices I make about my body," Stiles interjected. "You and I might be friends… and there's a kind of love we share in that… but if we were to be a couple, every time you and I had sex, I would feel worse and worse about myself."

"It's not like that, please, Stiles… you have to understand," Chris was fighting back tears as he moved, pressing Stiles against a wall. He grabbed Stiles' wrists, in his strong hands, holding them still the same way he did the night in that hotel room.

"Let me go, Chris!" Stiles hissed, struggling.

"Hey!" It was Jackson heading down the hallway. He moved quickly, pulling Chris away from Stiles and standing between them. "You don't pay for us anymore," he kept one hand firmly grabbing Chris' shirt, the other was reared back, ready to strike a blow at any moment. "You're all the same… you see something you want and you take it because we're young and you think we can't fight back."

"It's not what you think," Chris replied calmly.

"Jackson, let him go…" Stiles urged.

"Why should I?"

"Because it's my wedding day and I'm asking you to," Stiles begged. "I'll handle Chris… Just go back and enjoy the party."

"You should be enjoying the party too, Stiles… it's your wedding reception. You shouldn't be in a hallway getting groped by _him_." There was enough venom in that last world to cause Chris to flinch, but Jackson obeyed his brother's wish and left them alone.

After a few moments of silence, which felt far too long, Chris finally spoke. "I _am_ glad that you're happy, you know… I just wish I could be happy with you."

"Why not try being happy _for_ me?" Stiles asked. "Why not take into account the fact that this is what I want more than anything else and be content in knowing that I'm happy. And now, I'm going to go back to my husband. And I'm going to dance and sing and enjoy my wedding reception."

"And what about me?"

"What about you?" Stiles asked coldly. "Today isn't about you. It's about me and Derek and I'm not going to miss any more of it because you have a bruised ego. I've never been a trophy you could win. You didn't lose me because you never had me."

With that, Stiles broke away from Chris and rejoined his husband, giving no indication as to what happened. Chris left, heartbroken.

"Where've you been?" Derek asked. "I missed you…" He stole a kiss as he gazed into Stiles' eyes.

"I just had to deal with something," he replied cryptically. Derek gave him a quizzical look, but didn't pursue it.

* * *

He didn't find out until he returned from the honeymoon. None of his brothers wanted to ruin such a happy experience. He didn't blame them, though. Despite Derek's _many_ utterances that he shouldn't, he blamed himself.

The thing that surprised Stiles the most was the fact that he felt nothing. It was almost as if he expected it. This was the other shoe dropping. All that was left of Chris now was the locket he'd given at the wedding and a letter addressed to Stiles—a letter that Stiles couldn't bring himself to open, despite how many times Derek, Scott, and his therapist all said it could provide a sense of closure.

Everything in Chris' will had been left to Stiles, too, but he donated it all to charity, unable to bear the guilt that came with accepting it.

"Stiles, I don't know what else to say or do," Derek admitted after the fourth straight month of Stiles' grief. "I want to help you… I want to see you happy, but in the end, you're the only one who can choose to be happy."

"With the obvious exception of him confessing his love to me, my wedding day was the happiest day of my life. Being married to you makes me happy. But every time I'm happy, it's followed by something like this and I am _so_ afraid that I'm going to lose you or someone else I love because I let myself be happy, even for a moment," Stiles admitted. "If one more person I care about dies… it's going to kill me too."

"That's a terrible way to live," Derek said. "It is exactly _because_ you've lost so many people you care about that you should embrace any opportunity to be happy. We're less than 6 months into our marriage, Stiles… we should still be in our honeymoon phase and yet you're miserable and I hate seeing you so unhappy and knowing that I can't do anything to fix it."

Stiles rearranged his body so that he could rest his head in Derek's lap. The had a very natural intimacy, even now. It was the kind of thing that arose from sharing no secrets whatsoever. "I wish I could flip a switch and just be happy, Derek, but I'm terrified…"

"I understand," Derek replied, "But I can't live like this anymore. I love you too much to watch you waste your life like this. So please tell me what I can do to fix this."

* * *

Derek smiled as he glanced at the couch. Once again, Stiles had fallen asleep while working on his book. Carefully he closed the laptop and set it aside before picking his husband up and carrying him into the bedroom. At the sensation of being lifted, Stiles nestled against Derek and wrapped his arms around his neck. He was exhausted, but nearly finished. So much hard work… so many sleepless nights fueled by coffee and anxiety. This was merely an editing session.

Gingerly, he set his husband in the bed, pulling the covers up. Stiles eyes opened slightly. "Are you coming to bed?" he asked groggily.

"Yeah," Derek replied. "I'm going to shower first."

"Don't," Stiles replied, yawning and stretching as he sat up in bed.

"I just got back from the gym, I'm sweaty and gross," Derek complained, but he couldn't resist a request from Stiles, who was patting the other side of the bed.

"You've already worked up a sweat, but I haven't…"

Derek grinned. This was the playful, sexy Stiles he loved. In one fluid motion, he pulled off his shirt and climbed onto the bed, straddling his husband. "Are you sure you're up for it?"

Stiles grabbed Derek's hand, placing it on his crotch, and more importantly, his throbbing erection. "You tell me."

Their relationship had returned to this since Stiles started writing his book. The act of getting it all out on paper seemed to free him in a way that Derek found heartening. The spark of life had been returned to their relationship. They made love five times in the last week. Their communication was open and honest. Their marriage was finally where they wanted it.

* * *

The book tour was the one aspect of this endeavor that Stiles didn't take into account. Reading passages in front of crowds of strangers, doing the news circuits… it was taking a toll, and Derek could tell.

Stiles was getting tired of being told how brave he was in that cloying piteous voice. "If one more person gives me that look," Stiles grumbled as they got into a cab. "I swear I will pop out their eyes with my fingers."

Derek reached over and took Stiles' hand in his. "That's a very graphic picture you paint…"

"It's just…" Stiles sighed. "Every time I retell this story, it's like I'm going through it again. And the worst part of it all is that I feel like some of them enjoy hearing me talk about that time in my life."

Derek, who had been at every single one of these events, had to admit that he agreed. "You don't have to do this anymore. I can call the agent and nobody will blame you for cancelling the rest of the appearances."

Shaking his head, Stiles stared out the window as the bustle of the Manhattanites going about their business. "I made a commitment."

That wasn't a good enough answer. "Do you know what's more important than that commitment?" Derek asked, not waiting for Stiles to answer. "Your well-being. I'm not going to let you get re-victimized because these creeps want to hear every sordid detail of what happened to you. Say the word and you won't have to do this again."

Leaning over, Stiles rested his head on Derek's shoulder. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

When they got back to the hotel, Stiles collapsed on the bed. Derek took his shoes off and set them neatly beside the bed before crawling beside his husband and pulling him as close as physics would allow.

Stiles melted into Derek. The safest place he felt was in his husband's arms. "I don't know what would have happened to me without you, Derek."

Derek didn't want to think about that possibility. Instead, he remained silent and hugged Stiles a little tighter to him. It was no longer a threat. They were now safe.

"What happens when they sell the movie rights?" Stiles asked.

"They wouldn't make a movie about that," Derek replied.

"They made a movie from a shitty Twilight fanfiction about an abusive BDSM relationship… they'll make a movie about this," Stiles said. "Hollywood loves sex. And above all, they love abuse. My story contains both in spades. And that was all part of the book deal. Eventually we're going to see advertisements on TV of actors playing us… recreating our story."

"We'll get through it together, just like we got through everything else."

* * *

They were three and a half years into their marriage when the conversation of children was first brought up. It was over dinner. Derek had spent the entire day in the kitchen preparing coq au vin and crème brûlée. The conversation didn't even begin until Stiles' glass of Pinot Noir was nearing empty.

"Have you put any thought into being a father?" Derek asked.

Stiles nearly choked. "I can't say that I have. You would be a great dad… I don't think the same could be said of me."

"You'd be an amazing father," Derek assured him. "I've looked into surrogacy and adoption… I just wanted to know what you thought…"

"Do you really think we're ready for this?" Stiles asked.

Derek reached across, placing his hand gently on Stiles'. "I really do. You're almost done with your degree. We have so much empty space here since your brothers moved out… maybe it's time we work on filling it up with little ones."

To be honest, the idea of raising a child terrified Stiles. He hadn't been the easiest child. But he could tell that this was something incredibly important to Derek. Derek was meant to be a father and how could he deny his husband something like this after everything that this man had done for him?

"I graduate in two weeks. Can we table this until then?" Stiles asked. "Give me a bit of time to think on it?" He had every intention of agreeing to it, especially after seeing how bright it lit Derek up.

True to his word, three weeks later, as they were amidst their friends and loved ones, Stiles pulled Derek aside. "Do you want to make the announcement or should I?" he asked.

"I'd be happy to… if I knew what announcement you were talking about."

"That we're going to be dads," Stiles replied casually.

Derek's eyes grew wide. "Really?"

Stiles nodded. "I want to start a family with you."

Placing his hands on Stiles' cheeks, Derek pulled his husband in for a deep kiss. It continued until they were both out of breath. "You have no idea how happy I am about this!"

"Then answer the question… who gets to make the announcement?"

"I say we approach this in the way that we approach everything… We do it together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: There you have it... the end. I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you thought!


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